On the Fiddle
by theHuntgoeson
Summary: A festive caper for Gene, Alex and the gang. Can they reunite a young violinist with his stolen instrument in time for a big Christmas concert?
1. The Lost Chord

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. Any chance of getting the rights as a Christmas present?**

 **Many, many apologies for my silence since September. I have been, and still am, dealing with ongoing family illness. I hope to update "The Beginning of an Era" as soon as possible, and in the meantime, here's the first chapter of my Christmas fic for this year. It isn't finished yet, but I'll progress it as best I can.**

 **In the meantime, a merry Christmas to one and all - and if anyone feels like reviewing, it would be a Christmas present to me!**

" _Luigi_! What the bloody 'ell's 'appened to your nice, tidy restaurant? Looks like the Christmas department of 'Amleys after the Luftwaffe 'ave been through!"

Luigi sighed as he trotted towards his most irascible but dependable customer. "But, Signor Hunt, it is the festive season. The customers expect it."

"Well, this customer doesn't." Gene plumped into his usual seat at the corner table, and Alex, as usual, sat opposite him.

"I think it looks very nice, Luigi. Your staff must have been working very hard to make the place look like this."

Her last remark was very slightly double-edged. To her adult eyes, the superabundance of frosted twigs, silver-sprayed garlands and patently fake holly looked, like the restaurant itself, undeniably naff. But it reminded her of Christmas decorations in her childhood, and for that she was nostalgically grateful. All the same, she did wonder whether some of this stuff would manage to stay up until Twelfth Night without annihilating at least one unwary customer.

" _Grazie_ , Signora Drake. I am glad that someone likes it. The Christmas menu will be out next week."

"If there's any turkey pizza, I'm going," Gene grumbled.

"Not at all Signor Hunt. All the finest Italian Christmas specialities."

"That sounds delicious," Alex said warmly. "In the meantime, tonight I'll have the veal scallopine, please."

"Spaghetti bolgonese. An' the turnips at the long tables'll 'ave whatever they're 'aving."

"Right away, Signora Drake, Signor Hunt." Luigi bustled away.

Alex rested her forearms on the table. "Why do you dislike Christmas so much, Guv?"

"Who said I did?" Gene poured his first glass of red and another for Alex. "There's a time an' a place for everything. In the case of Christmas, as far away as possible from sober, honest citizens like me."

" _Sober_?" Alex echoed. "You? That'll be the day."

"Christmas is an excuse to double the price on everything an' stuff the populace on overpriced turkey," Gene proclaimed. "At the coldest time of year when the folk who most need cheerin' up can't afford it. An' it gives diabolical restauranteurs the opportunity to attempt to do in their long-sufferin' clientele."

To underline his point, a swag of fake ivy came loose from an overhead beam and hung down in a great loop which nearly garrotted a passing waiter. Gene looked up at the precarious array of festive finery suspended directly above his head and groaned.

"Come on, Bolly, let's shift tables."

Alex decided not to argue. They picked up their coats, wine and glasses and moved to the small table beside the arch, just as Luigi approached with their food.

"Signor Hunt, your usual table is not to your liking tonight?"

Gene scowled. "Let's say that eating my spaghetti with a gold-painted pine cone in it isn't my preferred method of consumption."

With a dull roar, the garlands and wreath above the corner table subsided with a crash onto the chair which Gene had just vacated.

Gene shrugged. "You see?"

Luigi bellowed something angry in Italian at a blushing young waiter who ran with a dustpan and brush to sweep up the debris.

"A thousand pardons, Signor Hunt! It is young Emanuale, he is new and very enthusiatic. I give you every assurance that this will not happen again."

"It 'ad better not," Gene growled. "Otherwise you'll find yourself with one waiter on a charge of attempting to assault a police officer."

"Oh, come on, Gene, it was an accident," Alex urged. Gene glowered and tucked into his spaghetti. She decided not to press the point further. Knowing what he had let slip to Sam about his abusive childhood, she could imagine the hellish memories that he associated with the Chistmas season.

-oO0Oo-

It was 9.45, and everyone was in the state of being pleasantly mellow without being drunk just yet, when Luigi trotted up to Gene's table.

" _Perdono_ , Signor Hunt. The Chief Constable is on the telephone for you."

"Oh, deep joy. Did the tosser say what 'e wants with honest off-duty coppers at this time of night?"

"He said it was something about a very important and unusual theft which he wishes you to investigate."

"Bugger. Bye-bye, nice, quiet evening." He followed Luigi to the phone on the counter, feeling more nervous than he cared to let on.

"Hello, Sir. What can I do for you?" He shot a scowl at Luigi, who tactfully turned the music down. "Sorry about the noise, I'm in a restaurant."

" _I know, Sergeant James said you'd gone off duty. There's been a robbery at the Barbican Centre. A priceless Stradivarius has been stolen. You and your team are to get down there and investigate at once. Do you hear me? At once._ "

"Sorry Sir, a _what_ has been stolen?"

" _A priceless violin, man! Now, get down there at once. I don't want to have to tell you again. This is reputational, Hunt. Important. I expect results._ "

"Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir. At once." There was a bang on the line suggesting that the other phone had been slammed down. Gene noticed that the upper-class twat hadn't apologised for rousting out the whole team while they were off duty.

"Bolly. Ray. Chris. The Chief Bastard wants us to do 'is dirty work for 'im. Now."

"Aww, Guv - " Chris moaned.

"Why? What's happened?" Alex demanded as all three rose to their feet.

"From what the Chief Calamity tells me, someone's straddy bloody fiddle's been nicked!"

-oO0Oo-

Almost as soon as the Quattro had taken off, Gene's radio crackled.

" _Guv. Viv here._ "

"So it was you who told the Chief Coronary where I was?"

" _I doubt it would have taken much detective work on his part, Sir. I've just received a message. Drive to the front entrance of the Barbican Centre in Silk Street. The deputy manager, Mr Herbert Bennett, will be there to meet you and take you and the team backstage. A team of uniform have been dispatched there already and are conducting a backstage search._ "

"Message understood. Out." Gene turned a corner so sharply that the Quattro rose onto two wheels. "Take note, lady an' gentlemen. We're meeting an 'Erbert. A right 'Erbert, by all accounts."

"You said that a fiddle had been stolen?" Alex asked. "Did you say something about a Strad? You can't mean a Stradivarius?"

"Sounds like a nasty disease," Ray remarked from the back seat.

"Antonio Stradivari was the greatest luthier in the world, _ever_ ," Alex said impressively. "The instruments he made are the finest there are. They're worth millions."

"Loo cleaner?" Chris was typically uncomprehending.

" _Luthier_. Maker of violins," Alex corrected.

"Can't whoever's lost it ask 'im to make another, then?" Ray demanded.

"They'd have a job," Alex said acidly. "He died in 1737."

"They'll just 'ave to get someone else to make 'em one, then!" Gene snarled as he swung the Quattro into Beech Street on two wheels.

"And how would _you_ feel if someone told you to drive a Leyland because one car's just like another?" she retorted.

She felt the car and its master shudder at the thought. "Suggest that one more time, an' you can walk."

"I wasn't suggesting," she argued. "I was only pointing out that to a violinist, a Stradivarius is as incomparable as the Quattro is to you - oh, we're here. That must be Mr Herbert."

A worried-looking man with a neat suit and a moustache waved them to a stop outside the Silk Street entrance. Gene wound the window down and treated the unfortunate man to his best glare.

"DCI Hunt? Herbert Bennett. I'm the deputy manager of the Barbican Centre. Thanks for coming so promptly. Would you care to take your car down here to the artists' car park, and I'll escort you backstage."

With the Quattro safely stowed, Mr Bennett took them through a pass door to the backstage area of the Barbican Hall. It was a curved corridor behind the concert platform, the rear side of which was studded with doors leading to individual dressing rooms, with a bar at the centre. Alex remembered the area well, having attended many concerts at the Barbican in her youth and adulthood. Following the successful defence of a prominent agent accused of embezzlement, Evan had formed connnections in the classical music business. He had frequently obtained discounted tickets for them both and taken her backstage to meet the artists after the concert. She wondered fleetingly whether he and her younger self had been there that night, but, scanning the crowd, she could not see a tall, bearded man with a fair-haired little girl clinging to his side. Which, she reflected, was probably just as well.

The open space was populated with a a detachment of PCs and a large number of agitated ladies and gentlemen, many of them in evening dress and clutching instrument cases. At the epicentre of the din were two men, one of whom was a dark-haired, fresh-faced teenage lad who was clearly distraught, and an older, elegant gentleman in white tie and tails who was attempting to impose some order amid the chaos. Alex guessed that he was the conductor and that the youngster was the bereft violinist. Both faces were vaguely familiar to her.

Mr Bennett clapped his hands for silence and went completely unnoticed. A grinning horn player removed his instrument from its case and blew a tuneless blast, and the ruckus subsided.

"Could I 'ave some peace an' bastard QUIET 'ere!" Gene bellowed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience," Mr Bennett intoned insincerely. "This is DCI Hunt of the Metropolitan Police. He and his team are here to investigate the theft of Mr Peal's violin. They will need to question everyone, and those who can be exonerated will be allowed to leave as soon as possible."

"Bloody 'ell! Look, Ray! There's dozens of fiddles 'ere!" Chris yelped, pointing to the serried ranks of hostile orchestra members.

Alex rolled her eyes, but Gene growled, "Good point. Ray. Chris. Get 'em all to open their cases an' see if the owner can ID 'is property."

"No need, Inspector." The conductor stepped forward. "I already took that step while we were waiting for you. Richard Morton. I'm the musical director of the Philadelphia Orchestra, we've been playing here tonight. When the police first arrived to search the area, I got my players to produce their instruments, and Mr Peal has confirmed that none of them is his. Your colleagues have undertaken a search of all the dressing rooms, including mine, but the Stradivarius is not anywhere backstage."

"As soon as the alarm was raised, I got my staff to stop anyone leaving the Centre," Bennett added.

A police sergeant approached. "Sir. PS Walsh. Police have been searching everyone detained after Mr Peal confirmed that his violin was missing, but nobody has it. It's too large to conceal on the person, and all cars, bags and cases have been searched. We've released everyone who's been searched, except here backstage, in case you needed to interview them to find witnesses."

"Which we will," Gene said darkly.

"You've been very thorough," Alex said smoothly. "Who discovered that the violin was missing, and at what time?"

The teenager stepped forward. "I did. Josiah Peal. I played her in the second half of tonight's programme. Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto."

" _Her_?" Gene echoed.

"The violin," the boy said impatiently. "The Golden Stradivarius. An instrument like that has a soul, a personality. I can't just say _it_ about her. I don't play her, we sing duets together."

"Give me patience," Gene muttered.

"Mr Peal!" Alex was impressed. "It's an honour to meet you. I'm such an admirer of your work." She recognised him now. In her own time, he would have become one of the greatest virtuosi of the age. But now he was a scared kid facing the ruination of his career.

"That's kind of you, Miss," the boy said distractedly. "This is only my first concert in the UK. It was part of my prize for winning the Van Hatten Scholarship last year." He was shaking. "Arnold Van Hatten, the millionaire, owns her. The Stradivarius. He lent her to me for the UK tour. If I lose her, I'm done for. He could sue. It'll end my career before it's started."

"Look, Joe, you know the violin's insured - " Morton began consolingly.

" _Insured_?" the boy wailed. "Do you think _money_ could compensate him, or me, for losing _her_? What if she's damaged or broken?"

"You 'eard the lady," Gene said drily. "When did you last see the love of your life an' when did you find she'd upped an' left you?"

Peal tried to calm himself. "In my dressing room, after the performance." He pointed to a door, marked with his name, near to the centre of the corridor. "I put her in her case and closed it. Then I went out to join everyone else at the bar outside for the sponsors' post-concert party."

"An' you left the door unlocked."

"Yes. I'll never forgive myself. There were a lot of friends and well-wishers visiting backstage, I must have been out there a good twenty minutes, being introduced to sponsors, talking to people, signing autographs. A reporter's here from the _Musical Times_ and he asked me for a quick interview. I gave it, and he asked if his photographer could have a shot of me with the violin. So I went into the dressing room to get her and found the case empty."

Alex surveyed the area. A colonnade of pillars stood between the dressing room doors and the area where everyone was congregated. "Given the size of the crowd, and the obstructed view of the door, someone might have easily slipped in and out without anyone noticing."

Gene scowled. "What are the exits from this place?"

"They're at either end," Bennett informed him. "One door on each side leads into the auditorium, plus there's the door over there to the car park, the way we came in."

"Any way of knowing who's been in 'ere?"

"I'm afraid not," Bennett sighed. "Strictly speaking, nobody should come in here but the performers, backstage staff and authorised guests, but in practice it's hard to stop members of the public coming in from the stalls if they're looking for an autograph or know one of the performers. There was a sponsors' reception tonight, so the place was particularly busy."

Gene glared. "Your security's not up to much. An' a fiddle worth a fortune was left unattended in an unlocked room."

"I assure you that, in the light of this incident we shall be reviewing all security - " Bennett began.

"Oh, give over. Any idea of who might 'ave left this area before Ding-Dong 'ere found the fiddle 'ad walked?"

"I'm afraid not. Anyone might have left via the stalls, mingling with patrons leaving the Hall or the Barbican Theatre."

"Oh, _deep_ joy."

"All the orchestra and our staff are here," Morton added helpfully. "We're all staying in the same hotel and travel to and from the Hall by coach. Walter Mansfield, our manager, has checked that everybody's present and correct."

"Right. Let's 'ave a look at the crime scene. Ray, Chris, stay out 'ere an' talk to this lot. Keep any witnesses who saw anyone goin' in an' out of the changing room or anyone leaving who might 'ave been 'iding a fiddle on their persons. Take the names an' addresses of the rest an' let em go."

"Roger that, Guv."

"Sergeant. Get Mr Bennett 'ere to get all the stewards in the building together - "

"They're called ushers here," Alex said tactfully.

"Whatever. Get 'em all together an' grill 'em good."

"Sir." The sergeant departed with Bennett.

"Which one is your dressing room, Josiah?" Alex asked the lad kindly. He looked thoroughly intimidated by Gene, and she knew that if she put him at his ease, they would have a better chance of getting information from him.

"This one, here." Josiah pointed to a door just to the right of the centre of the curve. A card on the door bore his name, and Morton's name was on the door to the left.

Gene shot it a sharp look. "You left the door closed when you went out to the party?"

"Yes?"

"An' it was closed when you went in to find your sweet'eart gone?"

"Yes."

Gene took a handkerchief from his pocket and laid it tenderly over the handle. "Then we'll open this very, very gently."

" _Oh!_ " Josiah looked up at him in dawning comprehension. "You mean - _fingerprints_?"

"Bang on. An 'ow many episodes of Starsky an' 'Utch an' Kojak 'ave you watched, then?"

Josiah blushed. "Rather a lot."

"There are worse role models," Gene said drily, opening the door. He and Alex walked in, with Josiah, Morton and Mansfield, the orchestra manager, tagging on behind.

The dressing room was comfortably furnished, with a wardrobe, armchair and illuminated dressing table with a large mirror. The red morocco leather violin case lay open and empty on the table.

"I can see why the thief left this case behind," Alex said as she approached the table. "It's much too distinctive. Far easier to hide the violin under a coat or in a carrier bag and walk out."

"The case was closed when I came in. I opened it and found it empty," Josiah contributed.

Gene stooped and picked up a black woolly glove from beneath the dressing table.

"Yours?" he barked at Josiah.

The lad shook his head. "No, mine are leather and they're in my coat pocket, over there." He pointed to the wardrobe.

Alex bent over the violin case. "Guv. There are black woollen fibres in the clasp, here."

"So the glove must belong to the thief?" Josiah suggested.

"Must 'ave been wearing gloves when 'e came in, so no dabs on the door 'andle. Bugger."

"Yes, but then they snagged on the clasps of the case," Alex added. "The thief didn't dare wear them while handling the violin, it might have slipped. It would have been frightful if he'd dropped it." She saw Josiah shiver at the thought.

"Yeah. So, 'e tries to get the case open, the gloves snag, 'e panics an' takes 'em off."

"Or at least one of them," Alex temporised. "This glove's a right-hander."

"Probably shoves 'em into 'is pocket, may not 'ave realised 'e's dropped it 'til 'e's clear. Calling card. An' that'll mean 'e's left 'is prints on the case. We'll want this for dabs. An' unless e's a southpaw an' left one glove on, there'll be prints on the door 'andle this side when 'e left." He turned to Josiah. "Who except for you came in 'ere today?"

Josiah considered. "Mr Morton, of course, and Mr Mansfield, and a couple of the Barbican's staff. Then after the show, the sponsors' representative, Mr Plowman, and a couple of friends. They're all outside."

"We've been rehearsing here all day," Mansfield put in. "The cleaners were still finishing up this morning when the orchestra arrived. I saw them polishing all the metalwork."

"Thank you. That's very useful," Alex said politely.

"What I don't understand," Mansfield added, "is that I looked in here during the party, and the place was empty then."

"It's all about timing," Gene said thoughtfully, turning back to Josiah. "You said you were out of 'ere twenty minutes, at the party. When?"

"The performance ended just before nine thirty," Mansfield said helpfully.

"Thanks." Josiah considered. "I must have come out about a quarter of an hour later."

"It must have been about fifteen minutes after that that I looked in," Mansfield said. "The _Musical Times_ reporter wanted to talk to Joe. I couldn't see him in the crush of people, so I knocked at the door and called his name. There wasn't any answer, so I put my head round the door and called him again. The room was empty and the case was closed on the table. Then I heard a call for silence while the sponsors said a few words, so I closed the door and went back to the bar. I saw Joe with Mr Morton, so as soon as the sponsor finished I took them over to the reporter."

"The sponsor's speech was at ten sharp," Morton contributed.

Gene nodded. "How long after did you raise the alarm?"

"That was about ten-ten," Morton said sadly.

"So the thief 'ad at least ten minutes' start an' all the exits in the building to choose from. Could 'ave been up to twenty-five minutes if the fiddle 'ad been taken before you looked in."

"But why should anyone want to steal it in the first place?" Morton demanded. "It's unique and recognisable. The colour's unlike any other violin Stradivari ever made, a rich golden brown, the wood seems to glow. That's why it's called the Golden Stradivarius. The sound, there's nothing like it in the world. It would give itself away as soon as it's played."

"Who usually plays the violin?" Alex asked. "You said it had been lent to you for this tour."

"Mr Van Hatten's kept her locked in a vault since he bought her eight years ago," Josiah said scornfully. "It's a crime. It's an instrument to be _played_ , not just admired. That's why I was so glad of the opportunity to play her."

Gene regarded him consideringly. "If you wanted 'er that badly, might you 'ave nicked 'er too?"

"What do you mean?" Morton said sharply.

"Maybe that's why you left 'er alone in an unlocked room while you went out to the party. So that you could get someone to nick 'er an' 'and 'er over later. Then you could play 'er as much as you like."

"Guv!" Alex remonstrated.

" _No!_ " Josiah had gone as white as a sheet, and Morton had to grab his arm to stop him falling. "No!" he shrieked again. "How can you? How can you say that? I wanted her, but I'm not a thief!"

"Sir, I must ask you to leave here at once," Morton said coldly. "How _dare_ you accuse a child of theft?"

Alex instantly move in to comfort the sobbing boy. _Only two years older than my Molly._ "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I must apologise for him. We have to follow all lines of inquiry. Haven't you ever seen _The Winslow Boy_? When Robert Donat accuses the boy of theft to establish his innocence? That's what my Guv's just done, and I'm satisfied that it worked."

"W-why?" Josiah gulped, looking up at her from within her encircling arm.

"I'm a psychologist. I'm trained to look for responses and body language. Yours would have been different if you were guilty."

"You have to remember that we're _performers_ ," Morton added, calmed slightly by Alex's reassuring manner. "A stolen instrument would be no use to someone who wants to play it in public. That's why I can't understand why it was taken."

"Well, it was," Gene snapped, "an' thanks to your security the thief could be anywhere by now!"

There was a tap at the door and Ray walked in.

"Guv. We've got witnesses."

 **TBC**


	2. Masters in this Hall

**A/N: I didn't get the rights to Ashes to Ashes for Christmas (curses), so Kudos and BBC are still the overlords.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone who read Chapter 1, and especially to my kind reviewers, Katie Duggan's Niece and Angervo. If anyone feels like reviewing this chapter, don't hold back...**

 **For those who know their London history, I have to own up that** **I've made free with the timing, because, as we know, Alex's only Christmas in the Geneverse was 1981 (as she was in a coma at Christmas 1982), but the Barbican Centre only opened for business in March 1982. Also, for anyone who's a Barbican regular, I'm using the numbering of the floors (or levels) as it was in 1982. They were all renumbered some years later. Most confusing.**

 **I picked the Barbican as the setting for this story, first, because it's so near Fenchurch East (in A2A S1E1 we see the Quattro going down nearby Beech Street) and secondly because the backstage security there really WAS that bad then, and remained so for years. Now their security is so tight that I've seen performers' relatives denied entry!**

 **Just in case anyone notices - all the chapter headings are song titles or quotations. I wanted to make them all Christmas carols, but my ingenuity doesn't extend that far.**

 **In case I don't publish another chapter before Friday, a happy, healthy, wealthy, Ashy 2016 to one and all!**

"Right!" Gene rubbed his hands together. "Let's grill 'em. Nobody to come into this room till it's been checked for fingerprints. You." He scowled at the still quaking Josiah. "We'll need a list of everyone who you know's been in 'ere today so's we can take their prints. We'll want yours, too. Come on, everybody out. Bolly, with me."

Ray led them out to the backstage area and to two women, one in her fifties and the other in her twenties, who stood near the left-hand entrance. The younger clutched a large, glossy-covered hardback book and a pen. Both looked nervous. They were neatly dressed in long overcoats, and Alex could see Gene's disappointment at not finding another tits-in-a-jumper.

" 'Ello, ladies. DCI Gene Hunt. Who are you an' what 'ave you got to tell us?"

The younger woman spoke up. "I'm Kelly Barnett and this is my mother, Beatrice. We don't know if it's important, but - "

"That's for us to decide. Get it off your chests, ladies."

Alex sighed. Kelly looked up at him, clearly overawed by the Genie charm.

"We were waiting here to get autographs from the orchestra members in our book." She displayed its colourful cover, _The Philadelphia Orchestra_. "It's all about the orchestra and has pictures of all the players. We didn't want to gatecrash the party, but we thought that if we waited here, we might get some of them as they left. Just after ten, while someone was making a speech, a man with a violin case came by and we asked him to sign. We wouldn't have thought anything about it, except that we just heard Richard Morton say that all the orchestra members are still here. And that was well after this man left."

 _View halloo._ "Could you describe 'im, love?"

Kelly considered. "About your height - "

"A bit shorter," Beatrice contradicted. "Five feet ten, eleven maybe."

"He was wearing a dark overcoat, rather like yours, but he was thinner than you," Kelly continued. "And it didn't have a velvet collar, I noticed that because it was turned up and his hat was pulled well down. Black hat, trilby or fedora I think."

"What did you see of 'is face?"

"A big, bushy moustache and glasses," Beatrice contributed. "Round lenses, like old fashioned NHS goggles."

"He was in a hurry, but that's not unusual after a concert," Kelly went on. "I tried to look for his picture in the book so that he could sign it, and he grabbed it from me, turned to the very end and signed on a blank half-page there. I thought maybe he'd joined the orchestra since the book was published, but now I'm wondering whether it was because he didn't belong to the orchestra at all. His autograph's an unreadable scrawl. That's nothing new, but - "

"It might be because 'e didn't want you to know 'is name?" Gene suggested.

"Yes."

"What about his violin case?" Alex asked. "Was it at all distinctive?"

Kelly considered. "Not really. Black, rubbed, well used, just like any other old violin case."

"Did you see which way 'e went when 'e left?"

"That way." Beatrice pointed to the door. "That door leads to the foyer, a small flight of steps and you're on Level 3, by the cloakroom."

"An' all the boys in the band are travellin' by coach an' stayin' at the same 'otel. Well done, girls. Was 'e wearing gloves when you stopped 'im?"

"No." Beatrice was very definite. "I know he wasn't, because he wouldn't have been able to turn the pages with gloves on."

"In that case we'll need to borrow this." He took the book from Kelly. "It's evidence. Got 'is fingerprints on that shiny cover an' maybe 'is name when 'e signed."

"Oh..." Kelly could not hide her disappointment. "But we'd been hoping to get more autographs while the orchestra are here."

"If your evidence helps Mr Peal to get his violin back, I'm sure the orchestra will be more than happy to sign your book for you," Alex said quickly. "Thank you very much, you've been a great help. Can you please give your names and addresses to our Detective Sergeant before you go, and come to the station tomorrow to give us a witness statement?"

"Of course. We'll be glad to do anything we can that will help."

"There's just one more thing," Beatrice added. "He didn't say much, but it sounded as though he had a foreign accent."

"What-a kind?"

"Something Latin, I'd say. Italian or maybe Spanish."

"Ta."

The ladies went off to give their details to Ray, and Gene turned to Alex.

"It's all about timing, Bolly. Peal left 'is girlfriend alone in the changing room - "

"Dressing room."

"Whatever. 'E left 'er there at nine forty-five. The girls said they stopped the bloke with the violin case during the speech, just after ten."

"But Mansfield said that he looked into the room just _before_ ten, and it was empty," Alex objected.

"He didn't _see_ anyone in there. Doesn't mean there wasn't anyone there. Let's 'ave a look."

Gene swept away, leaving Alex to hurry after him. He stopped outside the dressing room, covered the door handle with a handkerchief, and opened the door.

"Bols. Go in an' stand behind the door."

Alex obeyed. Gene closed the door, gave her a few seconds, and opened it. It opened to about sixty degrees before touching the wardrobe unit behind. Alex stood untouched in the gap between.

"Come on out, Bolly, I know you're in there."

She emerged. "So the thief was hiding behind the door when Mansfield looked in."

"Correct. Mansfield said 'e knocked first. Our fiddle-nicker must 'ave nipped in a couple of minutes before."

"About five to ten."

"Yeah. As you said, must 'ave been carrying 'is own case under 'is coat or maybe in a carrier bag. The party was in full swing an' nobody saw 'im going in. 'E was wearing gloves so's not to leave prints, but snagged one of 'em on the case an' 'ad to take 'em off, probably stuffed 'em in 'is pocket. May not even 'ave noticed 'e'd dropped one, it's black an' 'e wouldn't 'ave seen it under the table. Transferred the fiddle to 'is own case, closed the case on the table, an' was just about to beat it when Mansfield knocked. 'E'd just got time to 'ide behind the door before Mansfield opened it. If Mansfield 'ad walked into the room, 'e'd 'ave been rumbled, but 'is luck 'eld. Then the sponsor started 'is speech an' everyone was looking to the middle of the room, away from the changing rooms. Our fiddle-fiddler used the distraction to leg it. Nobody saw 'im leaving the changing room, but then fate did 'im dirt when the Barnetts stopped 'im. 'E got away to the entrance 'all - "

"Foyer."

" - but we've got the time 'e left an' a description."

"Glasses, moustache - don't you think that might have been a disguise? Even the accent might have been phoney."

"Could be," Gene admitted. "CHRIS!"

"Guv?" Chris skidded up to them like an eager puppy. "No witnesses yet. They were all at the party, weren't watching the doors - "

"We've got a sighting of a suspect who went out to the entrance 'all - "

"Foyer," Alex murmured.

" - shortly after ten. About five feet ten or eleven with a big tash an' glasses, black overcoat an' 'at. 'E was carrying a violin case when 'e left but might 'ave 'idden it under the coat. PS Walsh an' 'is mob are talking to the stewards out front - "

" _Ushers_ ," Alex corrected him.

"Whatever. You join 'em an' see if they've found any sightings."

"Roger that, Guv!"

Chris fled as Ray approached.

"We've been through everyone 'ere, Guv. Nobody but the Barnetts saw a thing. We've taken names an' addresses an' let 'em go. It's just the orchestra an' the backstage staff 'ere now."

Morton approached them. "Mr Hunt. Is there any news yet?"

"Weve got a couple of autograph 'unting witnesses who spotted a man with a fiddle case leavin' during the speech makin'. 'E went out that door. As you say all your boys are still 'ere, it looks like it was our thief. We've got a description, an' one of my officers is talkin' to the staff out there right now."

"So someone saw the violin being taken away, and didn't know to stop it." Morton looked crushed.

"It's a start," Alex said consolingly. "Tomorrow a police artist will work with the witnesses to create an image of our suspect, and then we can launch a public appeal. Someone may have seen him in the foyer or in the street outside. If we can find out which direction he took, it will help our search."

"Thank you so much," Morton said fervently. "Will you please let us know of any developments?"

"Of course we will."

"I know you'll do everything you can. In the meantime, is there anything more we can do here this evening? Joe's exhausted, and the full orchestra has a rehearsal tomorrow morning at ten."

"No, you can bugger off. You, Mansfield an' Wonderboy'll 'ave to come to the station tomorrow to give us your statements."

"Thank you, of course we will."

Morton and Mansfield moved away to round up the orchestra, just as Chris jogged up.

"No sightings from the ushers, Guv. They say ten o'clock was just when _Poppy_ finished in the Barbican Theatre. There was a full 'ouse turning out, over a thousand people. The thief'd 'ave been able to lose himself in the crowd."

"Bugger. If our fiddle-nicker knew the timing, it might 'ave been why 'e make a break for it right then." He looked about him. "Nothing more we can do in 'ere right now. Get Walsh to put a uniform guard on the dressing room an' the door to the _foyer_ \- " he glared at Alex - "until Forensics 'ave gone over the place an' taken dabs. We'll want dabs from everyone who went in an' out of the dressing room today to match up with the prints on the case an' the Barnetts' book. Right, let's take a look out 'ere an' see where the bastard went."

Using a handkerchief to cover the door handle, he opened the door which Beatrice had pointed out. It gave out a small area with a short flight of steps leading them up to Level 3, the main stalls level for the Hall, with the cloakroom on their right and the doors to the auditorium on their left. Bennett approached them as they came up the stairs.

"Mr Hunt. Your officer here has told me about the man with a violin case who came through here at ten. I'm afraid none of my staff saw him, the foyer was mayhem just then with the theatre turning out - "

"We know," Gene snapped. "You know this place. Which ways could 'e 'ave taken to get out of 'ere?"

"Well, from here he could have gone out of the doors over there which lead to the patrons' car park. Or he could have taken the stairs behind us, or the flight over there which leads up to the Theatre, or one of the lifts over there. Any of those would take him to Level Five, where he'd have had a choice of exiting via the Lakeside Terrace, where he could have either taken the walkway to Aldersgate or cut through the Barbican Estate to Moorgate, or he could have left via the Silk Street entrance, where he could have gone north along Chiswell Street or headed along Beech Street to Aldersgate, Golden Lane or Whitecross Street - "

"An' there's buses an' tubes in Aldersgate an' Moorgate," Chris contributed.

"Oh, deep joy. A crime scene with more exits than a Swiss cheese."

"One thing, with so many patrons leaving the Centre at that time, there's a possibility that someone may have spotted him," Alex said helpfully. "Or a local resident may have seen him if he took a short cut through the Estate. The sooner we go public on this one, the better."

"I'll leave that to you," Bennett said gratefully. "Please let us know if anyone at the Centre can do anything to help. We can display appeal posters."

"You can start by tightening up your security," Gene snarled.

"You can do more than that," Alex added. "You can get your box office to give us all the names and addresses they have, of people who booked tickets for tonight's concert, and the locations of their seats. Phone numbers too, where they have them. It's likely that the thief attended the concert, and that he was in the stalls to be sure of easier access to the backstage area. For tickets that were booked over the counter, give us the credit card details to enable us to trace the purchaser."

"I'll get them onto that, first thing tomorrow. Of course, the thief may have booked in person and paid in cash."

"He may have, to avoid being traced," Alex acknowledged. "But it'll give us a start."

"Thank you. If any of my staff come up with anything, I'll tell them to inform your station direct."

"You do that." Gene turned to his expectant team. "Home. An' don't spare the Quattro."

 **TBC**


	3. I Have Sought But I Seek It Vainly

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes... you know the rest.**

 **Many thanks to everyone who's taken time out from their Christmas and New Year celebrations to read the first two chapters of this story, with especial thanks to those who are following and faveing and to Katie Duggan's Niece for being such a faithful reviewer. Here's Chapter 3. I don't think I'll have time to finish posting by Twelfth Night, but I'll try not to make it too far into January.**

 **As ever, reviews would be welcome...**

The following morning, the station was a hive of activity. Shaz had already sent an alert to ports and airports, but Gene knew that with the Christmas holiday season about to kick off, it would not be possible for Customs to check all baggage for something which could be hidden in a cabin trunk or a large size suitcase. He was beginning to wish that the bastard had nicked a double bass.

Morton turned up at nine o'clock precisely to give Ray his statement before racing off to a rehearsal. Josiah followed about an hour later, accompanied by Mansfield. He still looked pale and distraught, but he took in his surroundings with wide, wondering eyes. Remembering what Gene had gleaned from him about his fascination with TV cop shows, Alex could not help thinking that if it were not for the gravity of the situation, visiting a Met police station would have been his version of Heaven on earth.

He gave Alex his statement, speaking clearly and confidently despite his obvious anxiety. She respected him for it.

"Thanks very much, Josiah," she said kindly when they had finished. "If you think of anything else that might help us, please let us know."

"Oh, of course I will."

"How long are you over here?"

"Until the twenty-second. I have - at least, I _had_ \- another engagement to play with the Philadelphia Orchestra at the Barbican, in their Christmas charity concert. It was going to be the other time I played the Stradivarius. But I don't know what will happen now."

"Won't they let you play if you can get another violin?"

"I've got another violin. My own, though of course it isn't as good as the Stradivarius. Nothing is. But maybe I'll never be allowed to play again, after losing it. Maybe this is the end of my career."

"Don't worry." Alex spoke with confidence. "I'm sure that before you're thirty, you'll be one of the greatest violinists in the world with a string of best-selling recordings to your name."

Josiah looked amazed. "Well, I certainly hope so."

"We'll keep in touch, of course. You're staying with the orchestra? Do you have any family members with you?"

"No. My mother was going to come with me, but my father's ill and she couldn't leave him. Mr Mansfield's acting as my guardian for the trip, my family have known him for years. I wasn't going to come, with Pop ill, but he and Mom both told me not to lose my chance to play here." Tears formed in his eyes. "I wish now I hadn't. I had to call Mom last night and tell her what's happened. She's beside herself. I had to beg her not to tell Pop. He's been feeling better, and this could set him back."

 _Poor boy, alone and so far from home._

"I'm sorry, Josiah. We'll do everything we can for you, I promise. Just bear in mind that it could take time."

His face fell. "If only you could find it in time for my concert - "

"We'll try," Alex said gently. "But you will understand that we can't always solve crimes to order. Real life crime solving isn't always like Charlie's Angels nabbing the villain just before the credits roll."

He blushed. "Of course not. I'm just so grateful for everything you're doing for me."

She turned him over to Shaz for tea and biscuits - "I don't care if you raid the Guv's Garibaldis, just make sure he gets something" - and turned her attention to Mansfield. Like Josiah, he had nothing to add to what he had already told the team the previous night, but it was important to make sure that their recollections of the events surounding the theft were recorded.

"Thank you very much, Mr Mansfield," she said courteously when they had finished. "Have you informed Mr Van Hatten of the robbery yet?"

He grimaced. "I had to ring him last night after Mr Morton and I had got Joe and the orchestra back to the hotel. One of the hardest telephone calls of my life. Mr Morton offered to do it for me, but I felt that I owed it to Joe. I'm acting as his guardian while we're in London."

"I know, he told me. How did Mr Van Hatten take the news?"

"To start with he went out of his mind with rage, who wouldn't, but funnily enough, once he'd got over the first outburst he was almost philosophical. He said that the violin's already been stolen twice in its history and been found again, so in a way he isn't surprised that it's happened again."

"Really?" Alex had not had time to read up anything about the violin's history. At times like this she would have sold her soul to have Google in the 1980s. "Is that common knowledge?"

"To music historians and enthusiasts, yes, it is. It's one of Stradivari's most famous instruments. Its story must be in a lot of encyclopaedias and reference books. Why, do you suppose that the knowledge that it's been stolen before, might have inspired last night's thief to try again?"

"You're ahead of me, Mr Mansfield. I think it may well have done. Do you know why and how it was taken before?"

"The first was in the 1920s, an orchestra member claimed to have taken it home in mistake for his own and then thrown it away in terror when he found what he'd done, but it was found that he was in debt and had stolen the violin in the hope of getting enough money to clear himself. It didn't work, the instrument was so well known that nobody would touch it. In the end he put it in a left luggage office and sent the ticket to the owner. Bad luck for him that the clerk at the office remembered what he looked like and was able to give the police a full description. They took the clerk along to the orchestra's next concert to identify him, and he was arrested. The other time, in the thirties, a loose-screw fan stole it from the owner's dressing room, took it home and set it up in some sort of shrine. He'd been seen hanging around the stage door, so the next time he showed up the police followed him home and found the violin there."

"Interesting. Thank you very much."

"Thank God, Mr Van Hatten was very good last night about not blaming Joe outright."

 _Not yet, anyway,_ Alex thought gloomily. _If we don't find the violin, it might be a different matter._

"He's mad at the Hall for not having better security," Mansfield added.

"So are we."

"He's going to give every assistance. One of his aides is flying over by Concorde right now with photos, videos, recordings, _and_ the full scale replica which Mr Van Hatten always keeps on display."

"Leaving the original in the vault."

"Yes. I know Joe doesn't approve of that, but I know he would never have stolen it. Poor kid. I've known him since he was in diapers. Music's his life. This has ruined what should have been the greatest moment of his career so far. I just can't understand how anyone could do such a thing to a fourteen-year-old boy."

"Someone who wanted the violin so much that they didn't care whom they hurt, I'm afraid," Alex said with a sigh. "As DCI Hunt will tell you, scum is scum, wherever you go. Even in concert halls."

"He loves police movies, he never thought he'd spend his first time in London involved in a crime. I know you'll do everything you can for him."

"Of course we will."

The two of them left, and Alex sat at her desk to start profiling the thief. Her talk with Mansfield had given her plenty of food for thought.

Shaz parked a cup of tea beside her. "There you go, Ma'am. Help keep you going. Chris has told me all about last night."

"Bless you, Shaz. Is the Guv letting you do anything on this case except making the tea?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm liaising with the box office," she said proudly.

"Any joy so far?"

"They retain name and address details for anyone who books by post or phone and has their tickets sent to them. That gives us quite a lot of the audience. If someone already on their records booked this concert at the box office, chances are that'll have been recorded too. But if it was a first time booker at the box office, we're out of luck. They don't retain credit card details for security reasons."

"Or the thief might have paid in cash, or he might not have been at the concert at all and just sneaked in afterwards."

"Maybe, but don't you think he would have been there, Ma'am? To gloat over the violin before he stole it?"

"Good point. I'll add that to the profile. We'll make a psychologist of you yet."

Shaz flushed with pleasure. "One thing, Ma'am, they say the concert was sold out weeks in advance, so the thief won't have decided to come along and steal it at the last minute, unless he was risking getting a returned ticket. They're going to give me a seating plan showing where everyone was sitting. That'll help if we need to ask for witnesses."

They got a lucky break an hour later when another witness came forward. Emma Owen, a slight, dark, shy girl in her twenties presented herself at the station and was instantly interviewed by Gene and Alex.

"I told Mr Bennett last night that I didn't remember anything, but thinking about it overnight I wondered whether I might have seen something. I told him this morning, and he told me to come straight to you."

"What's that, love?"

'I was on duty in the Level 3 cloakroom last night."

"The one just by the stairs leading to the backstage area?"

"That's right. Just after the concert ended, it was bedlam as usual with everyone wanting their things at once. There was one man in a big overcoat who collected a large carrier bag which only had one item in it. It felt big and hard, and looking back on it, it might just have been a violin case."

"You didn't look inside?"

"No, we can if we think there's a need to - the Centre reserves that right, but in practice we don't unless we suspect that it's something that breaks our rules, like a weapon. This close to Christmas, a lot of people leave their gift shopping in the cloakroom when they go into the Theatre or the Hall, there isn't much legroom in either venue. At the time I thought it funny that he should have left the bag and not the coat, it gets very warm in the Hall and he must have sweltered all through the concert. And I noticed that as soon as he'd got the bag, he headed straight down the stairs."

"Right into the backstage area?"

"There's an entrance to the stalls down there, too. I thought maybe he'd suddenly realised that he'd left something behind, maybe his umbrella or his programme. Then I had to serve someone else and forgot all about it, until this morning."

"Do you remember 'is face?"

She frowned. "I'm afraid not, there wasn't much of it visible thanks to the coat and hat, but I think he had glasses."

"You didn't see 'im again?"

"No, I'm afraid I didn't. But Mr Bennett told us that the thief probably left around ten, and I wouldn't have seen anything then. The cloakroom was under siege because the theatre was turning out."

"Thank you, Miss Owen," Alex said politely. "You've made a connection for us. Would you please give your statement to our Detective Sergeant before you leave?"

"Of course."

She left, and Gene turned to Alex.

"Well, that solves one puzzle. We'd been wonderin' 'ow 'e could get a violin case into the 'All without someone spotting it. Now it looks like 'e left it in the cloakroom, picked it up after the show, an' nipped backstage."

"Yes, and every piece of information we get adds to what we know about him."

Gene rolled his eyes. "So surprise me. You're profiling 'im already."

"That's my job, Guv."

"So, what do you make of someone who goes to all this trouble to nick a lump of wood an' catgut?"

Alex regarded him thoughtfully. "You resent the amount of time we're spending on this case, don't you?"

"Too bloody right I do," Gene seethed. "We should be spendin' our time solving _important_ crimes. Not looking for some poncey fiddle."

"But you wouldn't mind if if was a jewellery blag."

" 'Course not!"

"Just think of the violin as a precious jewel. It's utterly unique. A thing of beauty which has brought joy to countless thousands down the years."

"An' which 'as been livin' in a millionaire's vault for eight of 'em."

"That could be one reason why it was taken. But not by Josiah."

"Back to my question. Profile our thief."

"Let's fire up the whiteboard and I can tell the whole team."

"Done."

They emerged into the main office to find Ray giving a blushing Emma the eye and the Barnetts talking to Chris. Gene headed purposefully for the whiteboard, grabbed a pen, and started writing.

"Give the civilians a chance to get clear, an' we'll address the troops. You get cracking on your profile."

Half an hour later, the whiteboard was covered in writing and diagrams, and the team were sitting in a semicircle listening to Gene and Alex.

"Kidnapping last night backstage at the Barbican 'All. Victim, the Golden Straddyvarius, a violin worth millions." Gene gestured to a diagram of the backstage area, with Josiah's dressing room marked with a cross. "Security, zero minus ten. Time, about ten o'clock. Witness sightings of a man in a big overcoat with hat, big tash an' glasses with an Eye-tye accent leaving around ten."

"But that might be a disguise," Alex interrupted.

"Left with a violin case, an' 'e wasn't a member of the orchestra. Our prime suspect. Now, what 'ave we got?"

Ray put his hand up. "Guv. If we find the fiddle, 'ow will we know it's the right one? They all look the same."

Chris stood up. "We've 'ad a faxed description from Mr Van Hatten, the owner." He produced a crumpled sheet of paper.

"Well, give it 'ere for the board, you numbskull!"

Chris handed over the paper, and Alex scanned it before attaching it to the board. "Thank you, Chris. It gives a very full desciption."

"But they all look the same," Ray persisted.

Alex was reading the description. "Quite apart from its distinctive colour, it can be identified by a piece of paper glued inside the violin which can be seen through the F-holes. It has Antonini Stradivari's signature and the date the violin was made."

"An' what the 'ell's an F-'ole, apart from the obvious?" Gene demanded. Ray and a couple of the others snickered, and Alex quelled them with a look.

"They help the instrument to project sound more effectively," she explained.

Gene was unimpressed. "Can we get on with ID'ing the fiddle-nicker as well as the fiddle? Forensics 'ave just reported on the prints. We've got dabs from Peal an' Mansfield, and we're rounding up the others who went in an' out of the changing room so's we can eliminate 'em. In the meantime there's just one set that was on the inside door 'andle, the fiddle case _an'_ the Barnetts' book. We're concentrating on those."

"Anyone we know, Guv?" Alex asked.

"You knew the answer to that one, didn't you, Bolly? No, we don't. Care to give us your wisdom on who'd be mental enough to nick a lump of wood an' guts worth a pools win?"

Alex assumed her lecturer's stance. "Think of it as an art theft. Something beautiful and valuable but highly identifiable. Of course, there's a possibility that it was a professional job. Stealing to order, maybe for some millionaire who wants to keep it and gloat over it, just as its current owner has been doing for eight years."

"Like Dr No with that portrait of Wellington?" Chris contributed.

"Just like that." Alex beamed a smile of approval. "Goya's portrait of the Duke of Wellington was stolen from the National Gallery in 1961, only nineteen days after it went on display. It was still missing at the time the film was made. It was returned in 1965. It turned out that the painting had been stolen by a rank amateur who had struck lucky."

"A man who objected to having to pay for his telly licence, wasn't it, Ma'am?" Shaz asked.

"That's right. Kempton Bunton. And I think that the violin was stolen by a rank amateur, too."

"Bloody 'ell," Ray expostulated. "Why'd anyone want to do that, Ma'am? They'd 'ave to keep it 'idden. What's an ordinary bloke do with that thing?"

"An' why d'you think it was an amateur?" Gene demanded.

"You think it was too, don't you, Guv?"

Gene looked smug. "Made too many silly mistakes for a pro."

"Such as?"

"A pro would've used leather or plastic gloves. 'E'd 'ave known woolly gloves'd leave fibres behind an' that they'd snag in the case. When one _did_ snag, 'e panicked an' took 'em off. A pro would've known 'ow important it was not to leave prints. Then 'e left one behind, an' when 'e got the chance to get away during the speeches, 'e let the Barnetts stop 'im. A pro would've just said "can't stop, got a train to catch," an' walked on."

"Right on, Guv."

Ray put his hand up. "An' 'e was in such a hurry to leg it, 'e' was carrying the case openly, an' that was 'ow the Barnetts spotted 'im. Must 'ave still 'ad the carrier bag with 'im as we didn't find it backstage. If 'e was a pro, 'e'd 'ave taken a few seconds longer to put it in the bag."

"Also true," Alex agreed. "Although he might have thought that the violin case would have looked less suspicous in those surroundings than carrying a bulging bag."

Gene took charge again. "You 'aven't answered my question. Why did an amateur nick it in the first place?"

"Because it has a history of being stolen by amateurs. Two have succeeded but been caught shortly afterwards. He wants to be the one to succeed without being caught."

"But why would 'e nick it at all?"

"Because it was beautiful, unique, and suddenly within his reach. I think he's a musician too. He knows that the violin usually lives in a vault. He longed to liberate it. A desire too strong to be denied. Even if he could only ever play it for himself."

"An' 'e was prepared to risk getting nicked an' years of bird for _that_? _"_

Alex smiled. "Just think back to when you were a child looking in a toyshop window. Wasn't there ever a train set or a football that you wanted so badly you'd have done anything to have it?"

"That Meccano crane," Chris said dreamily. "Saw it in Kendals' window one Christmas. I was ten. Would 'ave killed for it."

"You've got the idea, Chris," Alex said warmly. "Our thief wanted that violin to play, and play _with_."

"To gloat over in secret like that millionaire," Gene said gloomily.

"What millionaire?" Chris was confused.

"My guess is that he comes to the Barbican regularly and knows that the backstage security is rubbish," Alex continued. "The box office has told Shaz that the event was sold out weeks in advance, so it looks as though he's been planning this for some time, possibly ever since it was announced that Josiah would be playing the Stradivarius. We'll have to see how long ago it was announced in the publicity. Shaz, get the Barbican to tell us that."

"Brilliant. Now we'll 'ave to raid every amateur an' professional fiddler in the country."

"Hopefully that won't be necessary," Alex said quickly. "We need to catch him out."

"Why do I get the feeling that you're about to suggest some mad, hare brained scheme that's going to drop us all into about twelve feet of soft brown stuff?"

"Ah, Hunt. How's the investigation going?"

The Chief Constable had wafted into the office without anyone noticing. A deferential Viv trailed in his wake. Alex had the satisfaction of seeing Gene scowl and then start like a guilty thing before recovering his equilibrium.

"Well, thank you, Sir. We've got witness sightings of a prime suspect who was seen leaving the backstage area with a violin case. The orchestra were all accounted for backstage 'alf an hour later. The witnesses are with the ID artist now. 'E left fingerprints, but we 'aven't got a match on them."

"So what are you going to do to find him and retrieve the violin?" the Chief Constable demanded smoothly.

"DI Drake's just been profiling 'im for us, Sir. She 'as a plan."

"Yes, I heard your opinion of _that_ as I was coming in," the Chief Constable said drily. "So this is the famous DI Drake! Strange to find a woman in your position, my dear."

Alex's hackles rose, and much to her pleasure, she saw Gene glare behind the Chief Constable's back. _Despite all the macho put-downs, the insults, the pathetic sexist sideswipes, he doesn't like someone else doing anyone in his team down._ Behind her, she heard Ray and Slate snicker again, and Gene switched his glare to them until they subsided.

"I hope to blaze trails, Sir," she said demurely. "DCI Hunt has just summarised our findings so far. We have sightings of our prime suspect inside the Centre, but we need to trace his movements after he left."

"And how do you propose to do that, my dear?" His patronising tone made Alex's blood boil.

"We must go public as soon as possible," she said firmly. "WPC Granger here has made the point that the thief probably attended the concert to watch the violin being played before he stole it. We can look for anyone in the audience who might have seen him. A statement from a cloakroom attendant suggests he was wearing his overcoat in the auditorium, it would have made him stick out like a sore thumb."

"Publicity! What an excellent idea, my dear."

"He appears to have left the Centre at the same time as the theatre audience. That gave him the chance to lose himself in the crowd, but it also means that it gave plenty of people a chance to notice him. We can appeal for anyone who spotted him leaving or in the surrounding streets afterwards."

"You were speaking about _catching him out_ as I came in?"

"That's right, Sir. My profile indicates that the thief was an amateur. The more publicity we give the case, the prouder he'll feel of having pulled off the robbery, and the more he'll wish he could boast about it. Which may make him take a false step, maybe by playing it when it can be heard. And that's when we catch him."

"Excellent. I have Shaw Taylor's ear. I'll get the case a slot in tomorrow's edition of _Police Five_."

"Er - " Gene struggled for speech. "You were, er, looking for a front man, Sir?"

"I was thinking more of a front _woman_ ," the Chief Constable said sternly. "Let our very own DI Drake show us the delightful, _feminine_ side of the Met."

Alex swallowed her wrath. "I'll be pleased to act as an ambassador for the Force, Sir."

"Splendid. The _P5_ team will be in touch."

He swept out. Alex could see Gene's secret relief, while outwardly he tried to look offended at having been passed over.

"Right. Apart from making our very own DI Drake a telly star, we're 'ere to solve a robbery."

"So am I, Guv," she said briskly. "Without necessarily being delightful or feminine. Can we see what else we've got?"

 **TBC**


	4. A Tenor All Singers Above

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes... same old story.**

 **Sorry, all, I had hoped to post another chapter before Twelfth Night, but it was not to be. That means that the final, most Christmassy chapter is likely to be posted some time in late January. 'Twas ever thus.**

 **Many thanks to the kindly quartet who reviewed Chapter 3 - Gem6 and GeneHuntress, it's great to hear from you gals again!**

 **Feedback on this chapter would be much appreciated...**

True to the Chief Constable's word, the _Police 5_ team were on the phone to Alex within the hour, and for the rest of that day she was immersed in preparations for the programme. She was acutely aware how embarrassing the situation was for Gene. His own disastrous appearance on _Police 5_ had been the talk of the Met. By appearing on the show instead of him, she would spare him further embarrassment, but she knew that if she was a success, it would show him up. She compromised as best she could by referring every stage of the process to him and making it clear to Shaw Taylor and his team that Gene was leading on the case.

She was somewhat glad for an excuse to get out of the office the following day. Chris insisted on putting up the Christmas decorations and was clambering from desk to desk to affix swags of tinsel and paper chains to the light fittings. It was like having an enthusiastic Newfoundland puppy jumping from one piece of furniture to the next. Beating a retreat, she noticed that Gene had shut his door and was clearly making his office a decoration free zone. She could sympathise.

Her close liaison with the _Police 5_ team paid off, enabling them to pack the maximum amount into the slot allocated to the case. They were able to display Mr Van Hatten's replica violin to the cameras and include, not only a full account of the circumstances of the disappearance of the Stradivarius but also the ID artist's image of the suspect taken from the Barnetts' description, detailed photographs of the violin, grainy footage of the last time it had been played ten years ago, and footage of Josiah winning the Van Hatten scholarship the previous year, playing his own violin. Shaw Taylor very helpfully allowed Alex to speak about the team - she insisted, the _team_ ' _s_ \- theories about the lucky amateur thief. She closed with an impassioned appeal.

"This was not an opportunistic crime. It was carefully, cunningly, deliberately planned." _Butter him up and he might be proud enough of himself to become careless._ "This theft was has blasted a promising young artist's debut in London. He and the orchestra were our country's guests, and they have been repaid for the beauty and joy their music brings to millions, by this cruel and cowardly robbery. If you are able in any way to help reunite Mr Peal with his violin, you will earn not only his everlasting gratitude but that of countless music lovers across the world." _Even though, if the violin's found, it'll be on a one way ticket back to Mr Van Hatten's vault._ "Please call the hotline. We're waiting to hear from you now."

Shaw Taylor closed with the habitual admonition to "keep 'em peeled", and after the cameras stopped turning he shook Alex's hand and pronounced it a pleasure to work with her.

Somewhat against Gene's better judgement, but with Alex's encouragement, Chris had been put in charge of the hotline. Before she could get back to CID, he had received his first call.

" _Hello, is that the hotline for the theft of the violin from the Barbican Hall?_ "

"Yes, Ma'am, it is. What can I do for you?"

" _Well, I didn't see your suspect leaving the Barbican, but I think I was sitting behind him all through the concert._ "

"Really, Ma'am? That's very interesting. Please go on - oh, and can I 'ave your name an' number, please? For the records, like."

" _Oh, of course. My name's Elsie Marchant, and my number's 01 253 5352. My husband John and I were at the concert, and a man wearing an overcoat was sitting in front of us. He had his hat on, and I couldn't see a thing. I asked him very politely if he would take it off because I couldn't see, and the brute refused, even when my husband spoke to him sharply. Eventually I told him that if he didn't remove it, I'd complain to the attendants. He took it off then, but with a very ill grace, I must say. But he kept the overcoat on, all through the performance._ "

All the time she had been speaking, Chris had been making frantic notes. He managed to signal to Shaz to pass him a copy of the seating plan, and she picked up an extension phone to help him with the note taking.

"Thanks, Ma'am, that's very helpful. Where were you sitting?"

" _In M18 in the stalls, my husband was in M19. I don't know which seat the man in the coat was sitting in, but it was in the row in front, right between me and the platform._ "

"An' did you get a look at 'is face?"

" _He had big glasses and a brown moustache, just like the picture in the programme. But after he'd taken the hat off, I couldn't help noticing that his hair was coal black and curly. It didn't match the moustache at all. I thought it must have been a bad dye job._ "

"An' did you 'ear 'im talk?"

" _Not a word. He just shook his head when I asked him to remove his hat_."

"Thanks very much, Ma'am, that's a big help. I'll call you back if we need to talk to you again."

" _Thank you, young man. Goodbye._ "

He and Shaz hung up, and they grinned at each other across the desk.

"Result!"

"What is?" Gene demanded, emerging from his office.

"We've 'ad a call from a member of the audience. She 'ad Overcoat Bloke sitting in front of 'er."

"Bingo. Which seat was 'e in?"

Shaz looked up from the plan. "Mrs Marchant was in M18 in the stalls and she said that the man in the coat was blocking her view of the platform. That means he must have been sitting in L18 or 19."

"And?"

"There's a block of five seats there that were sold to five different people at the box office on the day booking opened. L18 and 19 were both paid for in cash. No details held by the box office."

" _Shit._ " Gene looked over Chris's shoulder at his notes. "The suspect 'ad black 'air. That's why 'e didn't want to take 'is 'at off."

"Because then they'd see the moustache was a fake," Shaz agreed.

"Bolly was right. It was a disguise. An' that means the only ID we've got is of the back of 'is 'ead."

They got another call shortly afterwards, from a resident of the Barbican Estate who had seen a man in an overcoat, carrying a violin case, walking through the estate towards Moorgate at 10.15. She was at pains to point out that it could well have been an innocent member of the public, but the timing was right. However, she was adamant that the man had been clean shaven and had not been wearing glasses.

"Because 'e'd ditched the disguise once 'e was clear of the Barbican," Gene said bitterly when Chris reported to him. "Must 'ave nipped into a corner an' pulled the tash an' specs off."

"If it is 'im, we've got the direction 'e took, though, Guv?" Chris said hopefully.

"If it is, yes, we 'ave. We can try for sightings in the Moorgate an' Liverpool Street area. Supposing 'e 'adn't pulled on a false beard by that time."

The phone in Gene's office rang, and he raced to pick it up.

"Hunt."

" _Ah, Hunt. I saw P5. Please pass on my congratulations to DI Drake for being such an effective ambassador for the Met._ "

 _As opposed to me, you bastard._ "Certainly, Sir."

" _Any feedback from the appeal?_ "

It was the question he had been dreading, but he determined to sound as optimistic as possible. _It's what Bolly would do._ "Two good leads so far, Sir."

" _Only TWO?_ "

"Yes, Sir. One from a member of the audience who believes she was sitting behind our suspect. She's identified the seat 'e was in, but unfortunately the Barbican Centre 'asn't got any details for 'im. Must 'ave paid in cash at the box office."

" _So that trail's gone cold._ "

"It would appear so, Sir, but we'll check with 'em again. The other's from a resident on the Estate who saw a man with an overcoat an' a violin case 'eading for Moorgate fifteen minutes after the robbery. Tomorrow we'll get uniform to doorstep the estate an' look for eyewitnesses at Moorgate an' Liverpool Street stations."

" _Not much progress yet, then._ "

"We'll keep at it, Sir."

" _You'd better. I want a result, Hunt._ "

He held the receiver away from his ear as the Chief Constable slammed the phone down, then hung up and emerged from his office, just as Alex walked in.

"Drake. Sorry, nobody 'ere wants your autograph."

She ignored his rudeness, knowing how her success on the programme must rankle with him. "Have we had any calls on the hotline, Guv?"

"Two from the 'otline an' one from the Chief Comestible."

"Oh."

Chris and Shaz quickly updated her on the calls while Gene grabbed a much needed tumbler of whisky. She was disappointed by the lack of response to the appeal, but insisted on taking a positive view. "Maybe someone will remember something overnight and call tomorrow, like Emma Owen."

"Yes." Gene did not sound convinced. "I've told the Chief Calamity, we'll get plod into the area tomorrow to doorstep the estate an' talk to passers-by in Liverpool Street an' Moorgate, an' they can put up posters."

"What with?" Ray said gloomily. "The ID sketch from the Barnetts' description's worthless. It shows 'im with the tash an' specs. An' the fiddle was in the case."

Gene sighed, loth to admit that his faithful sidekick was right. "We'll use one of the photos of the fiddle. Might jog the memory of someone who saw the programme."

"But what if the man our witness saw in the Barbican Estate wasn't the same as the one the Barnetts and Emma saw?" Alex objected. "He might belong to another orchestra. This close to Christmas, there are concerts all over the place."

"In which case the fiddle-nicker might 'ave gone off in another direction."

"I'm afraid it might. At the very least, I'd suggest widening the uniform cover to include Aldersgate and Chiswell Street."

Gene groaned. "Whatever. In the meantime, it's beer o'clock. Last one out of 'ere buys the first round."

The whole team decamped to Luigi's in short order, where Gene's temper was further shortened by the Christmas soundtrack pumping over the loudspeakers. Alex could only be grateful that it did not include any violin music, which would probably turn him feral.

They were well into their main courses when they became aware of an altercation at the entrance. A man was trying to enter and was being held back by two waiters.

"NO!" they heard Luigi shout. "I tell you again, NO!"

Gene levered himself to his feet and headed for the entrance, with Alex, Ray and Chris at his heels.

"What's goin' on?"

" _Perdono_ , Signor Hunt." Luigi looked more harrassed than usual. "It is only the waiter I sacked two nights ago for almost killing you with his stupid Christmas decorations." He turned to the newcomer. "You are a danger to my clientele, Emanuele! You nearly kill my best customer. I tell you again, no job for you!"

"I am not asking for a job," the young man replied with dignity. "I must speak to the great detectives. It is about the stolen violin."

"Wassat?" Gene demanded.

"I saw the beautiful lady on the television. She said, to come to you if I had any information."

"All right, Luigi, you can let 'im in! He's with us. But if 'e breaks anything, 'e can pay for it!"

Reluctantly, Luigi signed to the waiters to release Emanuele, and he coolly flicked their hands from his lapels as he followed Gene and the others to the long table, where Chris found him a spare chair and sat him opposite Gene and Alex. The whole team clustered around them. Once again, Luigi's had become a CID command centre.

"Right. Talk," Gene said tersely.

The young Italian seemed quite unfazed by the attention. "After Luigi sacked me two nights ago, I obtained a temporary job as waiter at the _Casa D'Oro_ restaurant in Ropemaker Street. It is a larger place than this, very elegant. They have entertainments every evening, with musicians playing around the tables."

"And?"

"Last night one of their regular musicians, Michele Lavizio, was playing the most beautiful violin music I have ever heard. I am a music student myself, and I could tell that the quality was exceptional."

"Do you play the fiddle?"

"No, I am studying voice at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. I am a tenor."

Surveying his handsome face, Alex searched her memories of her own time in vain. _Did he ever become famous? If so, I don't remember him. Maybe he only ever sang in a chorus, or never became a professional singer at all._

"My friend Giovanni, who obtained the job for me, has been working there three months, and he was as astonished as I," Emanuele continued. "He told me that this man plays there often, but never before has he sounded anywhere near as good as this."

"Ah..." Gene's mental dawn came up like thunder.

"Was he playing there on the night of the robbery?" Alex asked.

"Giovanni tells me that he was not there the night before last, when the Stradvarius was taken from the Barbican. He plays at many different clubs and restaurants in the area, but we do not know which the others are. He arrives, plays a few numbers, then leaves to go to the next one."

"Just like a variety performer," Ray interjected.

"Slippery alibi," Chris said glumly. "We'd 'ave to check all 'is usual haunts."

"Which is what you're paid for," Gene said cruelly.

"According to Mrs Marchant, a man resembling the thief was there all through the concert," Shaz put in. "So he might have taken the night off and let all the places he usually plays at think he was at one of the others."

"What does he look like?" Gene demanded.

"He is a little less than six feet tall, slim, with black, curly hair. That is all I could see, from a distance."

"Moustache? Glasses?"

"No, neither. But the Signora said on the programme that they might be a disguise."

"An' what you've given us matches Beatrice Barnett's description of 'is height an' accent, Mrs Marchant's description of 'is 'air, an' the woman on the estate's description of the man she saw 'eading for Moorgate. Not far from Ropemaker Street."

"Have you been able to get a good look at his violin?" Alex asked.

"Not closely, no," Emanuele admitted, "and it was dark in the restaurant while he played. It does not look exceptional, but he might have used something to disguise it."

"Fire up the Quattro." Gene stood up. "We're off to the Cassa Dorro."

"It would do no good tonight, Signor," Emanuele said quickly. "He only plays there between seven and eight, and I do not know where he is now. I came to you as soon as my shift had ended. He will be playing there again at the same time tomorrow night."

"We can talk to the manager now, and nick 'im when 'e comes back tomorrow."

"Guv. Guv." Alex laid a hand on her impetuous DCI's arm. "If we go there now, we could frighten him away. Then we'll have a bigger job to find him. He may even try to get out of the country. And if it's all a mistake, we'll make fools of ourselves, and think how that would go down with the Chief Constable."

Gene hesitated, unwilling to admit that she was right. He looked down at the long, taper-like fingers on his sleeve, then up into the eyes of their owner, allowing himself to lose himself in those hazel depths for a split second before he regained control of himself.

"Why do I suspect you've got another of your 'are-brained plans up your sleeve?"

"Well, Guv, it's only an idea, but here's what I suggest we do. Book a table there tomorrow night, and ask Josiah to come with us. We can tell him which player to listen out for, and Emanuele can tip us off when Lavizio's coming on."

"No."

"But, Guv, it'll get us in there to hear him, and we'll have the best possible witness with us. He'll know as soon as he hears it."

"An' what if 'e's not sure, or the fiddler legs it while 'e's making 'is mind up?"

"We can put uniform at all the exits."

"He might not play the same fiddle tomorrow."

"Oh, I think he will. He's pleased with himself for pulling the robbery off, and that's making him reckless. He wants everyone to admire his new toy without their realising what it is."

"It'll waste a whole day, an' we still might not get anything."

"Who's to say we can't proceed with our enquiries around the Barbican and Moorgate tomorrow? That'll show the Chief Constable we mean business, and if Lavizio is the thief, he'll think we're running around in circles without finding him. It'll give him a feeling of false confidence."

"Officially, the restaurant is full tomorrow night, but as I work there, I am sure I could get you a table," Emanuele added helpfully.

"Make it for four, if you can. Mansfield may want to come with Josiah."

"My wish is your command, Signora."

" 'Old it right there," Gene snapped. "Who says I'm agreeing to this daft proposal?"

"Just one thing more, Guv."

"What's that?"

"You wouldn't be eating here tomorrow night."

"DONE!"

 **TBC**


	5. The Violin Began To Play

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes... you know the rest.**

 **I'm so sorry that it's taken so long to update both this and The Beginning of an Era, I'm having ongoing and worsening problems with family illness which are affecting the amount of time I can spend writing and posting. I will keep both stories updated as best I can.**

 **Profuse thanks to the lovely reviewers of Chapter 4, Katie Duggan's Niece, 80's Babe, GeneHuntress and Angervo. You rock, ladies! And if anyone feels like reviewing this chapter...(cough)...**

 **RIP the two LOM and A2A forums, The Railway Arms and Luigi's - may they arise like a phoenix from the Ashes...**

 **As it's been so long since I posted the last chapter, here's a reminder of the story so far: Gene, Alex and the team are investigating the theft of young Josiah Peal's priceless Stradivarius violin following a concert at the Barbican Centre. Witnesses have identified a suspect seen leaving the Centre with a violin case at the time of the robbery, and waiter Emanuele has alerted the team to Michele Lavizio, a violinist at the Casa D'Oro restaurant, whose playing suddenly sounds much better than usual. Gene and Alex plan to visit the restaurant with Josiah to see if he can identify the violin...**

First thing the following morning, Alex phoned Mansfield.

"Mr Mansfield. I have a favour to ask."

" _If it's to do with recovering the Stradivarius, consider it done._ "

"Can we borrow Josiah this evening?"

" _Might I ask why?_ "

"Certainly. We got a lead yesterday from a witness working at a City restaurant, who says that a violin played there for the first time two nights ago has really exceptional sound quality. He's a music student, so his judgement on such matters should be good."

" _And you'd like Joe to hear it?_ "

"Yes. We've obtained a table there for tonight. If Josiah believes that it's the Stradivarius, we can stop the player and ask him to let us examine it. He'll recognise it, if anyone does."

Mansfield hesitated. " _I'm worried that we may be getting his hopes up in vain_. _He's so upset over all this._ "

"I'm sorry, I know that's a possibility, but if we don't check this out, simply to protect Josiah's feelings, we may lose the violin. The thief could smell a rat and try to sneak abroad at any time."

" _Yes. You're right. I'm sure he'll agree to come, but I'll have to impose one condition._ "

"That you come with him."

" _Yes. I owe his parents that much._ "

"Don't worry. We've asked for a table for four."

" _Thank you._ "

"Fine. Please be at the station at five-thirty. Our suspect is on between seven and eight."

" _We'll be there._ "

Shortly afterwards, she received a call from Emanuele, confirming that he had managed to reserve a table for four for Gene and his party.

" _I have no name for it, Signora, and I dare not use yours in case Lavizio recognises it from the television._ "

"That's fine, Emanuele, thank you very much. Use the name Kate Winslet."

" _Kate - ?_ "

"Winslet. W-I-N-S-L-E-T."

" _Thank you, Signora, I will. I will be there to see you to your table on your arrival, but I will be very careful not to betray that I know you. I should warn you, it is only a small table tucked into a corner. It was all I could get._ "

"That will be fine. The more out of the way we are, the harder it will be for Lavizio to spot us. He might know my face from the TV, or Josiah's from the concert. If Josiah wants a closer look at the violin, we'll signal to you. Tell him that there's a request from our table. We'll say that it's my birthday."

" _I will remember that, Signora. Addio._ "

Gene flatly refused to change into "poncey glad rags" for the occasion, but as he was already wearing one of his trademark dark suits, Alex judged that he would do. She slipped over to her flat at 5.00 to change into the black outfit she had worn for her "last supper" with Gene, the day before the explosion. Elegant but understated, she thought.

Josiah and Mansfield arrived by taxi at 5.25, the former in a miniature black tuxedo which made him look older than did the flowing-sleeved black shirt he had worn at the concert, and the latter in a smart black suit guaranteed to make him look inconspicuous. _The fate of the behind the scenes man,_ Alex reflected.

Josiah was pale and looked nervous but excited. "Good to see you, Miss Drake, Mr Hunt. Walter's told me about the tipoff."

"Just remember, it might not lead to anything. Don't get your hopes up too much. A waiter at the restaurant we're visiting tonight is a music student and tipped us off that a regular violinist there, Michele Lavizio, is playing an instrument which sounds much better than his usual one. We just need you to listen to Lavizio when he plays. If you think it could be the Stradivarius, tell us as discreetly as you can, and we'll ask him to play at our table. If you're sure enough of its identity, tell us, and then the rest will be up to us. Apart from that, keep your head down in case you're recognised. The same goes for you, Mr Mansfield. If Lavizio is the thief, he might have seen you backstage, and he certainly heard your voice."

Both Americans were astonished by Gene's insistence on driving to the _Casa D'Oro_ , only a few streets away, but Josiah was thrilled by the car and by Gene's driving of it. Looking in the mirror, Alex noticed Mansfield looking terrified and turning a pale shade of green. He was clearly relieved when Gene parked the car around the corner from the restaurant to have a quiet word with Ray and Chris, who had followed the Quattro in Ray's car and were casing the kitchen and delivery exits.

"If you two tossers are loitering with intent, look less intentional about it!"

"Roger that, Guv." Ray was scowling. He and Chris would be freezing their arses off covering the outside while the Guv and Drake were in the warm restaurant.

"You can stay in the car till shortly before seven. Our suspect's on between seven an' eight, an' we'll make a move once Wonderboy 'as 'ad a chance to 'ear the fiddle. Keep the joint cased then. If 'e does a runner an' you don't stop 'im, I'll serve your 'eads to the Chief Commissary with apples in your mouths. Comprende?"

"Comprende, Guv," they muttered, and gratefully retired to the warmth of the car, leaving Gene to shepherd his party to the main entrance.

Josiah turned wondering eyes on Alex. "Why are those men there - oh, is it for _us_?"

"Two of our team watching the rear exits, just in case he tries to do a runner. We'll meet up with the waiter who tipped us off when we get inside."

"Wow!"

They entered the restaurant, gave the mysterious name of Winslet for their booking, and were escorted by a poker-faced Emanuele to a small circular table beneath an overhanging balcony, tastefully festooned with swags of festive greenery which helpfully shadowed their faces. Gene, as the only member of the party whose face the thief would definitely not know, sat in pole position with the best view of the platform, with Josiah beside him in the deepest shadow. Alex and Mansfield sat with their backs to the platform. She hoped that they would look like a family gathering, perhaps the boy and his parents with a favourite uncle.

Under cover of handing them their menus, Emanuele whispered, "The platform where he will perform is over there. Other musicians will play before him. I will warn you shortly before he comes on. May I recommend the _Pollo Milanese_ , Signore?"

While waiting for their food, Alex turned in her seat to view the restaurant. Emanuale was right: it was a considerable cut above Luigi's. It was a wide room, panelled in wood to halfway up the walls, with balconies at either side and the performers' platform at the rear, facing the entrance. If Lavizio turned out to be their man, he would have to negotiate an obstacle course of chairs and tables to reach the front door, but would be able to slip out to either of the rear exits leading to the kitchens. It was as well that they had Ray and Chris in place. Behind her, she knew that Gene was making exactly the same calculations.

They were all silent and uneasy. It was a good fifty minutes until Lavizio would appear, and the time hung heavy. After their starters and while they awaited their mains, Gene excused himself to visit the Gents. Both toilets were down a corridor on the opposite end of the room to their table. Further down the corridor was a door marked _Private_. Hearing the sounds of singers warming up and musicians tuning their instruments, Gene correctly deduced that this was the performers' changing room - _no, dressing room_. A fire door at the far end of the corridor would give the thief an easy exit. Checking that it was not linked to an alarm, he carefully opened it, left a fag packet to wedge it slightly open, and crept out to find Ray and Chris, both fast asleep in their car. He hammered on the windscreen, making them both jump like startled rabbits.

"If you want to sleep on the job, you can join the fire brigade!"

Ray wound the window down. "Er, sorry, Guv. Stuffy in 'ere."

"Well, 'ere's something to keep you awake. That fire door over there. Watch it. It's by the changing room. Could be Sonny Boy's number one escape route."

"Roger that, Guv," Ray sighed.

Gene stole back and, much to his relief, managed to push the fire door to without making it bang. He left the fag packet wedged in the door to enable Ray and Chris to get in if necessary. Passing the dressing room, the sound of a violin tuning up created in him an overwhelming urge to burst into the room, punch the fiddler, retrieve the instrument, and hand it to Josiah for identification. With some difficulty, he restrained himself. He had not discounted the possibility that there might be more than one violinist in the room, and if he nicked the wrong fiddle it would be catastrophic.

Returning to his seat, he leaned over and murmured quietly to Alex, "Bolly. Changing rooms in the same corridor as the loos. Fire door at the end. I've alerted Ray an' Chris." She nodded slightly to indicate that she had heard, just as their mains arrived.

The entertainment began at six-thirty with two guitarists, followed by a contralto a quarter of an hour later. They all performed well, but Alex could tell that their music fretted Josiah's nerves. There was only one instrument that he wanted to hear. He was too nervous to eat much, and Mansfield was little better.

-oO0Oo-

"It's freezin' out 'ere, Brass monkey weather."

"Yeah, it's all right for the Guv an' the Boss, 'aving a posh feed an' listening to the music in the warm. I'd settle for a slice of Luigi's steak an' chips pizza right now."

"What's the time, Ray?"

"Ten to seven."

"Guv left that back door open for us, an' 'e said the loos are along there. I'm bursting."

"Chris, you div! Come back 'ere!"

But Chris had already slipped inside, leaving Ray to curse in the cold.

-oO0Oo-

At a couple of minutes to seven, Emanuele glided over to the Fenchurch table with an unsolicited bottle of fizzy water. "Any time now. I have seen him getting ready." He stepped back as the singer bowed amid applause and exited, to be replaced by a tall, slim man in his forties with black, curly hair, clutching a bow and a blackened, chipped, worn-looking violin.

Josiah started out of his seat and was firmly hauled back into place by Gene and Mansfield, while Emanuele expertly stepped in front of the table, ostensibly to respond to another diner, until order had been restored.

"Can it, kiddo, or you'll blow our cover before 'e plays a note!" Gene hissed.

"But - but that's not her," Josiah choked under his breath. "It looks awful!"

"Sh. Listen." Alex counselled.

The violinist tucked his instrument under his chin, raised his bow, and launched into Paganini's _Cantabile_. The tatty violin sang like something from a world above. All conversation died away to an awed hush upon which the music floated, unearthly, exquisite, divine.

The three adults looked at Josiah. His eyes were tight shut and he was listening with his whole being. As the number ended amid a roar of applause, he opened his eyes.

"It _sounds_ like her. It does. But the tone's a little flatter, not so much resonance, and it looks so awful."

"Do you want a closer look or not?" Gene demanded impatiently, while Alex and Mansfield both anxiously signalled to him not to push too hard.

Josiah nodded tensely. Gene raised his hand to attract Emanuele's attention and muttered a word in his ear, and the waiter slipped discreetly through the tables to the platform. While they sat through Lavizio's next number, an equally divine _Meditation_ from _Thaïs_ , Alex reached for the black velvet fascinator in her handbag, drew the sparkling diamante clip from her hair, let it fall across her forehead, and wrapped the fascinator around her head. Not a very effective disguise, but it would change the shape of her face, and in the dim light there was a chance that Lavizio might not recognise her.

During the applause, Emanuele approached Lavizio and whispered to him. He nodded and followed Emanuele to the Fenchurch table. Gene stood, awaiting him, while Josiah shrank back into the shadows, trembling, and Mansfield made himself look invisible. Alex looked up at Gene, keeping her back towards Lavizio.

" 'Ere, you. A serenade for our birthday girl."

" _Certamente, Signore._ What do you wish? _Happy Birthday To You_?"

"That'll do, yeah."

Gene sat, and Alex half-turned her head towards Lavizio as the violin sang once more. The whole restaurant thundered with applause as he finished.

Josiah stood suddenly. He was shaking. "Will you play the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto? I played it three nights ago." His voice was shrill with emotion and carried to every corner of the room.

Lavizio whitened at the sight of him and turned to flee, but Emanuele barred his way. Gene leapt to his feet, and the long arm of the law grabbed the musician's shoulder.

"DCI Gene Hunt, CID. We want a look at your fiddle."

-oO0Oo-

" _Ray_! Come on! It's all kicking off!"

" 'Ow do you know?"

"I 'eard while I was in the bogs! Come _on_!"

-oO0Oo-

Lavizio swore in Italian, backed into Gene, elbowed him in the stomach, pulled free, shoved Emanuele into a nearby table, and took to his heels. Gene recovered and thundered after him, followed by Alex and Mansfield, while Josiah, trapped behind the table and trying to clamber over Gene's discarded chair, yelled, "Stop him! He's got her! The Stradivarius!"

As Lavizio reached the artists' door, Ray and Chris burst through it and he bounced off them like a squash ball. The violin shot from his hands and flew through the air in a wide arc. Time seemed to stand still as Josiah screamed in horror and Gene skidded along the floor on his stomach, rolled over, and fielded the fiddle as it came in to land, clasping it tenderly to his chest. It was the finest save Alex had ever seen. The diners, who had been watching the unexpected floor show open-mouthed, gave him a standing ovation, and one man called out, "Well held, Sir!".

"What is going on?" Lavizio demanded, struggling in Ray's grip. "Why have you assaulted me?"

"That's just what I want to know," an imposing individual in an intimidatingly perfect dinner jacket intoned as he advanced to the centre of the room. "And when you've given me your explanation, I must ask you to leave at once."

"We'll leave in our own good time," Gene countered, scrambling to his feet, cradling the violin in his arms.

Alex produced her warrant card from her handbag. "DI Drake, CID. This is my superior officer, DCI Gene Hunt. We are investigating the theft of a priceless Stradivarius from the Barbican Hall three nights ago. I take it you are the proprietor of this restaurant?"

"I am, madam. And what makes you think that we are harbouring stolen property?"

"Why have you taken my violin?" Lavizio bellowed at the same time. "I demand that you return MY VIOLIN!"

Gene walked up to the trembling Josiah. "Peal. Can you ID this fiddle as your fiddle?"

Josiah was barely able to stand. "H-has anyone got a torch?"

Alex produced a slim pencil torch and a magnifying glass from her handbag, Emanuele cleared the table of crockery and glasses and spread a clean napkin on it, and Gene carefully laid the violin down. A child's umbrella could have covered all their heads as they crowded around the table. Josiah shone the torch into the lefthand F-hole and peered into it with the magnifying glass. A deep sigh escaped him and he passed the torch to Alex. She peered in, nodded, and passed the torch to Gene. Inside the violin was a yellowing scrap of printed paper which read:

 _Antonius Stradiuarius Cremonenfis_

 _Faciebat Anno 1713_

Gene grinned, returned the torch to Alex, and marched up to Lavizio.

"Your fiddlin' days are over. You're nicked. On suspicion of nicking the Golden Straddy from the Barbican 'All."

Lavizio's and the proprietor's whinnies of protest were drowned by Josiah's outraged howl as he ran his fingers along the precious wood and surveyed his blackened hands.

" _Boot polish_! The bastard's put boot polish on the Stradivarius!"

-oO0Oo-

An hour later, following an unpleasant altercation with the proprietor, they were all back at the station. Alex asked Josiah and Mansfield to give their witness statements of the evening's events to the grumbling Ray and Chris. She knew that if Lavizio went to trial, it would be after they left the country, and it would be as well to obtain as much evidence from them as possible while they were still in London. Lavizio was already in the cells and, on Gene's insistence, had been fingerprinted. The final results were awaited, but it looked very much as though his prints would match those on the violin case, the door handle in Josiah's dressing room and the cover of the Barnetts' book.

After a quick cup of tea and a slice of pizza from Luigi's to make up for the abandonment of their meal at the _Casa D'Oro_ , Alex and Gene were ready to interview Lavizio. He faced them defiantly.

"Michele Lavizio. Care to explain 'ow you came to be in possession of a priceless fiddle which was stolen from Josiah Peal's changing room at the Barbican 'All three nights ago?"

"You know all already, so why should I say anything?" Lavizio said sullenly.

"Did you steal it? Or are you goin' to claim you bought it from a mate to do 'im a favour?"

"The lady knows the answer to that, does she not? _Not an opportunistic crime. Carefully, cunningly, deliberately planned._ That was what you said, Signora."

"That does not answer DCI Hunt's question," Alex said coldly. "We know that a man of your height and build, wearing a black overcoat and hat and disguised with a moustache and glasses, was seen in the audience during the concert at which the violin was played, and again leaving the backstage area, carrying a violin case, at ten o'clock, just before the theft was discovered. A man, carrying a violin case but without the disguise, was also seen crossing the Barbican Estate towards Moorgate at ten-fifteen. Were you that man?"

"An' if you weren't, 'ow come you'd disguised the fiddle with boot polish an' ran like a hare when I wanted to look at it?" Gene added.

"Yes, I took it!" Lavizio shouted.

"You wanted to go one better than the thieves who took it before, and were caught." Alex was inexorable.

"Yes! They were fools. I knew I could do better than they."

"Says the man who left 'is glove behind an' gave us enough fingerprints to keep Forensics 'appy for a year," Gene said scornfully.

"I took it to release it, to allow it to make music again!" Lavizio insisted. "For eight years it has been hidden away in a vault, silent, owned by some rich American who kept it as an object and never played it, never even looked at it! That is a crime far greater than any you say I have committed. I was going to play it and play it until I had made enough money to take it back where it belongs."

"Where is that?" Alex asked.

"Where it was made. Cremona, my own home town. There it would have lived again amid the sunshine and it would have sung for the people of Italy. It would have spread beauty, happiness, just as its maker intended."

"Didn't you consider what you were doing to an innocent young man when you took the violin from his dressing room?" Alex said grimly. "Didn't you think that you might be ruining his career? His whole life?"

"Pah! A child. What right had he to touch the Stradivarius, let alone play it? How could he _understand_?"

"Not to mention the fact the 'e's another Yank, an' you seem to 'ave a down on the whole race," Gene added drily.

"Enjoy your triumph, policeman," Lavizio said passionately. "You have caught me, and now I will go to prison. But the violin will go to a prison far worse than mine, an endless, silent darkness where it will never sing again. _That_ is your triumph. Rejoice in it!"

"Is bein' kept in a museum better than bein' 'awked around clubs an' restaurants, covered in boot polish?" Gene demanded.

"Just think of Mr Van Hatten's ownership as a chapter in the violin's long life history." Alex spoke more gently. She was coming to understand the man's tormented obsession. "It has been owned and played by many in its time, and will be by many more. While he owns it, it will be kept safe to delight future generations. Some day, maybe not in your lifetime, it will be played, and it will sing again."

"But not by you," Gene added with unnecessary relish.

Lavizio deflated. "I have failed in my mission. Do what you will with me."

" _Gladly_. Michele Lavizio, you are charged with the theft of the Golden Straddyvarrius. Drake, get Skip to fiddle our fiddler into a nice, cosy cell."

With Lavizio safely stowed, they emerged into the corridor and walked slowly together towards the desk.

"Bloody 'ell," Gene intoned. "Prepared to do porridge for the sake of a fiddle."

"Well, at now least he's told you why, Guv. Personally I have some sympathy."

"EH?"

"He's right. An instrument like that _should_ be played, not just owned."

"You aren't tellin' me that you'd nick a fiddle an' cover it in polish to keep it from its rightful owner."

Alex rolled her eyes. "Credit me with some sense, Guv. I only meant that I understood why he wanted to do it. Remember, Josiah feels the same way, but he wasn't going to steal it."

"In that case, Miss Clever Clogs, tell me why Lavizio played it in public when 'e knew we were searching London for it. If 'e 'adn't, we wouldn't 'ave rumbled 'im."

"He said that he hoped to make money with it. He was trusting it to bring him a better income than his own violin."

"Yeah, to take it back to Italy."

"But it was more than that. It was a desire to show off his new toy. That was his weak spot." She smiled sadly. "Remember what I said about your wanting that train set, Guv?"

As she spoke, they arrived at the desk, where they found Josiah and Mansfield awaiting them. Both looked as though a vast weight had been lifted from their shoulders, and although he was so exhausted that his face was all eyes, Josiah was radiant.

"You two still 'ere? Would 'ave thought it was well past your bedtimes."

"Your sergeant has very kindly allowed us to use his phone to call the States collect," Mansfield explained. "I hope that was all right."

"Fine, of course," Alex said reassuringly.

"Joe's phoned his mother to let her know that the violin's been found. We can't tell you how relieved she is. And then I called Mr Van Hatten. He has asked me to express his deepest gratitude to the Metropolitan Police for your swift handling of this case and its successful concluson. He'll send a letter of thanks, but I'm to give you his message now."

"A letter. That'll be good to show to the Chief Constable," Alex said with satisfaction.

"Yeah, an' I'll 'ave to phone the blight to tell 'im we've cracked the case."

Mansfield reached for his wallet. "He's also asked me to hand you five hundred dollars so that you and all your team can have a drink on him."

"Blimey, five hundred smackers? Be able to 'ave quite a party on that, won't we, Bolly?"

"Before we go back to our hotel, we just wanted to check," Mansfield said nervously. "We hope you don't need to retain the violin as evidence? You'll understand that we don't want to let it out of our sight from now on."

Alex and Gene looked at each other, and Gene cleared his throat. "No, er, don't want a thing like that clutterin' up my nice, tidy station."

"Lavizio's confessed to the robbery, so there probably won't be a trial," Alex added. "But it would be helpful to let the police photographer take some shots of it for our records. He can come to your hotel."

Josiah spoke for the first time. "I want to thank you so much. For everything."

"So, now you'll be able to play the Stradivarius at the charity concert on the twenty-second?" Alex asked.

He pulled a face. "I'm afraid not. She'll need months of restoration to remove all that boot polish. Heaven knows what it'll have done to the varnish. No wonder her tone sounded flat tonight. But Julian Anderson's promised to lend me his 1732 Guarnerius for the concert, so it isn't all bad. That's a great instrument too, but not as good as the Stradivarius. Nothing is." He looked sad. "And after she's restored, she'll go back to Mr Van Hatten's vault."

"Never mind, Josiah," Alex said comfortingly. "One day, maybe you'll become rich and famous enough to have a Stradivarius of your very own."

Josiah sighed. "What a pipe dream. Anyway, that brings me on to what I wanted to say. The concert's sold out, but I have some complimentary tickets. Will you both please be my guests? I'll want to wish you a merry Christmas then, before I fly home the next day."

Beside her, Alex felt Gene stiffen. Three hours of classical music would be his personal equivalent of an outer circle of the Inferno.

"Thank you, Josiah. I'd love to come," she said warmly. As discreetly as she could, she nudged Gene.

"Yeah, er, thanks, that'll be great." He sounded as though he were swallowing a pork pie. Alex was open-mouthed with astonishment. "But, er, on one condition."

"What's that?" Josiah asked brightly. Alex noticed that Mansfield looked wary.

"We'll be 'aving a party tomorrow night at the restaurant across the way, to celebrate wrappin' the case. Will you be _our_ guests?"

Alex's heart sank. She could scarcely imagine a less suitable environment for a teenager than Luigi's with CID in full cry. But she realised that Gene had judged his audience rightly. For Josiah, with his love of cop shows, such an invitation was like opening the gates of an earthly Paradise.

"Wow, I'd love to! But are you sure you'd want me?"

" 'Course we would." Gene strove to sound enthusiastic. "You'd both be welcome."

"It, um, it couldn't be for very long, Joe," Mansfield said hurriedly. "No more than an hour. You've got a rehearsal at ten-thirty the following day."

"That'd suit us fine," Gene declared. "Just an hour to see 'ow we London cops spend our leisure time, an' we'll be glad to 'ave you. Be at Luigi's, the restaurant across the way, at six tomorrow. Tell 'em you're with Signor Hunt."

Josiah beamed. "It's a date!"

"Just one more thing," Alex added. "The two ladies who witnessed Lavizio leaving with the violin. They were trying to get autographs in their book about the orchestra. We have to retain it as evidence. Can you arrange for them to receive another copy?"

"We'll do that," Mansfield declared. "Give us their address when we're here tomorrow, and we'll send them tickets as well. Come on, Joe, let's get going."

"See you tomorrow!" Josiah called out as Mansfield gently shepherded him away, and Alex waved as they passed through the swing doors.

"Guv!" she remonstrated as soon as they were alone. "What on earth were you thinking of, inviting an impressionable teenager to a CID hoedown? It could be enough to corrupt him for life!"

Gene's face was expressionless. "There was a kid 'is age once who loved cops. Used to 'ang around the station to get a sight of 'em, even follow 'em to the pub to get a sniff of what it was like to be a real, live copper. Used to get sent 'ome with clips round the ear, of course, an' got beltings from 'is Dad when 'e got 'ome for being out late. Bein' invited to a cops' Christmas do would 'ave been 'Eaven for 'im."

Alex was silent, knowing that he was talking about himself.

"Can't invite Peal to our Christmas party, that's on the twenty-fourth an' 'e'll be 'ome by then. But we can give 'im tomorrow night. Van Hatten's payin' for it, after all. I'll tell the troops to be on their least bad behaviour while Peal's 'ere. Won't kill 'em for one hour. Give 'im something to remember about us when 'e's back 'ome."

She tucked her arm through his. "And to think I thought you were lacking in the Christmas spirit."

"Only lacking the bits that don't matter, Bolly. Goin' to 'is concert, now, that'll take some _real_ Christmas spirit."

"But you're doing it for him."

"Yeah, well, can't disappoint the kid," he mumbled.

"There's one other thing we should do."

"Wassat?"

"Persuade Luigi to give Emanuele his job back. He's been our guardian angel on this case, and I can't imagine the _Casa D'Oro_ will want to see him again after tonight's little set-to."

"Won't want us to darken their doors again either. We'll sweet-talk Luigi tomorrow. Right! I'm off to ring the Chief Calamity an' tell 'im we've found the fiddle an' the fiddle-fiddler. _An'_ to tell 'im we're going to a snotty sold out concert 'e'd give 'is eye teeth to get invited to. See you later, Bols."

 **TBC**

 **A/N: Bartolomeo Giuseppe Antonio Guarneri was the OTHER greatest luthier (violin maker) of all time. For Josiah, to be offered a Guarnerius to replace his Stradivarius is a bit like being offered a Lamborghini to replace a Rolls-Royce.**


	6. Tis The Season To Be Bolly

**A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes... sob...**

 **Many, many apologies for my silence since March. Suffice it to say that I have been undergoing one of the worst years of my life. My personal situation is stabilising now but continues to be very time-consuming, which is severely limiting the resources I can devote to fanfic. I'm still writing as and when I can, and I have several chapters of** ** **"The Beginning of an Era"** in hand but what I currently lack is time online to polish and post what I've written. I'll resume "The Beginning of an Era" as soon as I can, and in the meantime, here is the long overdue final chapter of my LAST Christmas Christmas story!**

 **I should stress that I finished this chapter a year ago. I say that because I see that, quite coincidentally, at one point in "It'll Be Lonely This Christmas" GeneHuntress has posted wording very simliar to mine. Truly great minds think alike.**

 **As it's so long since I posted the previous chapter, here's a brief recap:**

 **Gene, Alex and the gang, assisted by waiter Emanuele, have been investigating the theft of a priceless Stradivarius violin from the Barbican Hall. Chapter 5 concluded with their identification of the thief and their recovery of the violin, much to the gratitude of Josiah Peal, the cop-show-mad 14-year-old prodigy from whom it was stolen. He and his guardian, Walter Mansfield, have invited Gene and Alex to a charity Christmas gala at the Barbican where Josiah will perform, and in return Gene has invited them to dine with CID at Luigi's...**

 **Reviews would be balm to my wounded soul.**

 **A happy, healthy, wealthy, Ashy New Year to all my readers.**

As it turned out, they were to see Josiah again earlier than the following evening. The Chief Constable was so delighted with Gene's account of the rescue of the violin that his office informed the press first thing in the morning. To Gene's disgust and Alex's secret delight, by mid-morning the station was under siege from reporters. The Chief Constable preened for the cameras before insisting that Gene and Alex come out to face their public. He had phoned Mansfield, who, alive as ever to the possibilities of a photo opportunity, had brought a still sleepy Josiah and the precious violin with him, and the photographers had a field day snapping the boy wonder, the Stradivarius, and the intrepid detectives who had found it. Some time after the newshounds had dispersed, Chris went out for a lunchtime sandwich and returned brandishing an early edition of the _Evening Standard_ with a front page photo of Josiah standing on the steps of the station, clutching the violin, flanked by a beaming Alex and a scowling Gene, with the heading "Met's Tasty Twosome In Tune".

"Looks like people will be wanting _your_ autograph now, Guv," Alex observed.

"As Tyler would 'ave said, that was a spectacular waste of police time," Gene growled.

"It's great publicity for the work the station does," she said earnestly. "For the work _you_ do."

"What, findin' a fiddle? What about solving murders an' muggings an' rapes an' blags?" Gene demanded wrathfully.

"Some crimes are more newsworthy than others," she admitted, "and some are more glamorous. Look at it this way - after all this publicity, the Chief Constable won't be able to complain about this station, or anyone in it, for a long time to come. And if he can't, nobody else in the Met hierarchy can, either."

"Hm. There is that. RAY! What the bloody 'ell fire d'you think you're doing?"

Ray smirked. "Pinning the Met's Tasty Twosome In Tune to the notice board, Guv. So that everyone can see."

"Not if you value the continued possession of your knackers."

 _Oh, dear_ , Alex thought. _Does that mean that he's ashamed of me? Or is he just embarrassed?_

There was one way to find out. She held out her hand. "May I have it, then, please, Ray? I'd like to keep it as a souvenir of the case."

Ray looked uncommonly knowing as he handed it over "Sure you can, Ma'am."

She stole a glance at Gene as she stowed the cutting in a folder and he returned to his office. She could have sworn that he was blushing, and he quickly looked away, almost as though he suddenly felt shy. Unaccountably - at least, she told herself that it was unaccountable - that warmed her heart.

After a routine afternoon routing the criminal population of London, the team decamped to Luigi's promptly at beer o'clock, to find Josiah and a decidedly apprehensive looking Mansfield already awaiting them at the long table.

"Your Signor Luigi said that you always sit here and that any friend of Signor Hunt's is a friend of his," Josiah explained, radiant.

"Good of 'im, given the size of my tab," Gene observed. "Come on, you lot, budge up! We've got guests."

Alex made a point of sitting next to Josiah, and with Mansfield on his other side, she reckoned that he would be shielded from the coarser elements. Gene sat at her other side, and between them they introduced Josiah to each member of the team, he shook hands with them all, and Alex handed him the menu and ordered him fizzy water, just in case anyone thought of giving him anything stronger.

To her great delight, Emanuele appeared to take their food order.

"Emanuele! So you're working here again?"

"Yes, Signora, thanks to Signor Hunt. He persuaded Luigi to take me back."

"Good for you, Guv," she murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear amid the restaurant din. He coloured to the roots of his golden hair, obviously desperately embarrassed at having been caught out in a good deed.

"Signor Hunt told me how he helped you find the violin," Luigi announced as he placed Josiah's fizzy water in front of him. "A restaurant near a police station needs a crime solving waiter, no? But I have told him, _no more decorations._ I cannot risk another detective's life."

"Thank you, Luigi," Alex said gratefully. "Josiah, this is Emanuele. He was the one who tipped us off about the violin and helped us last night."

"Yes, I remember you! Thank you!" Josiah shook his hand enthusiastically.

"I am glad to see you again, Signor Peal. So, what would you like to eat?"

It was a pleasant if noisy meal. Nobody was drunk yet, and Gene had wisely elected not to put Van Hatten's wad behind the bar until after Josiah left. With the knowledge of free drinks galore to come, the team moderated their boozing until the founders of the feast departed, and Alex had already threatened anyone who misbehaved with a week in the Records Room going through old cases. Josiah, happily scoffing lasagne followed by Luigi's luscious _Panforte di Siena_ , drank in the atmosphere and loved every moment, and even Mansfield relaxed a little.

When the dishes had been cleared away, Gene banged on the table for silence.

"Ladies an' gentlemen, let's 'ave a moment to say thank you to our guests."

Josiah stood. "I'm the one who should be saying thanks to all of you. You've found my violin and saved my career. I'll never be able to thank you enough."

"All part of the day's work, son," Gene said modestly.

"Well..." Josiah heaved a violin case from under his seat. "I didn't think you'd expect me to sing for my supper, but I thought I might play you something short before I leave, by way of a small thank-you. Would you like that?"

Ray didn't manage to stifle a groan. Gene could not make himself look enthusiastic, and most of CID wore politely glazed expressions. But Alex noticed that Chris looked eager and Shaz, positively delighted.

"We'd love it!" she declared. "But I hope that isn't the Stradivarius you've got there?"

"Good Heavens, no. She's in the safe at the hotel. This is my old practice violin. I call it my gypsy fiddle, you'll see why in a moment."

"Give 'im some space an' a bit of peace an' ba - er, peace an' quiet!" Gene commanded.

Josiah extracted himself from behind the table, Alex passed the violin and bow out to him, and a hush descended over the restaurant. He tucked the violin beneath his chin and raised his bow.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you - CSÁRDÁS!"

Monti's plaintive, eerie gypsy melody, measured yet wild, wailed and coiled itself around the arches and columns, hanging in the air. Its slowness dragged at the listeners while hinting of the turbulence to come. Even the unmusical members of CID listened in fascination. Suddenly the music exploded in burst after burst of unbelievable virtuosity as it quickened to a lively dance rhythm. Smiles broke out. Feet tapped under the tables. Chris pulled Shaz to her feet, and they spun and twirled around Josiah as he continued to fiddle like a boy possessed. Other couples joined them. Then, as the music slowed again to a high, soulful melody, Chris swung Shaz into a smoochy tango, only to be nearly pulled off his feet as the music quickened again to a ferocious speed and Josiah almost set the fiddle on fire with continual, tumultuous cascades of notes while the dancers whirled around him. He finished with one final flourish, raising the bow high above his head, and the restaurant erupted with applause. For a few minutes, he had lifted them all to another realm.

"Bravo, Josiah!" Alex cried, clapping, as he made his way back to the table.

"Yeah, not a bad 'and on the little ol' fiddle," Gene admitted.

"Joe, I'm sorry, but I really think we should go now," Mansfield said apologetically.

"Oh, do we _have_ to?" he pleaded.

Alex saw the beginnings of teenage rebellion and quickly moved in to quash it. "I think you do. Mr Mansfield's told us that you have a rehearsal tomorrow morning, and I for one have no desire to get into any hot water with Mr Morton."

"That's true, Joe," Mansfield added. "It'll be your first chance to play the Anderson Guarnerius. It's being delivered to Mr Morton at ten tomorrow, and your call is for ten-thirty."

Alex saw the desire for the instrument shine in the boy's eyes, warring with the longing to stay and party the night away, and saw the desire for the violin win out. _As it'll have to do if he's serious about having a career as a top musician._

"Okay," he said reluctantly. "But I'll never forget tonight. Thank you so much for having me, everyone."

"Pleasure," Gene insisted. "An' thanks for the, er, concert."

"I nearly forgot." He turned to Mansfield, who took two envelopes from his breast pocket and gave it to Josiah, who pressed it into Alex's hand. "Your tickets for the gala on the twenty-second, and the other is for you to send to the two ladies who got Lavizio's autograph. Please be there!"

"Of course we will," she assured him heartily, although she could sense Gene wishing that Josiah had forgotten his offer. "We're looking forward to it. Thank you very much!"

"And please come backstage and see me afterwards."

"Is that wise?" Gene demanded. "Don't want us nicking your new fiddle."

"Don't worry about that. They have security guards on the doors now, and they only admit people on the guest list. I'll give them your names."

"Oh, er, ta."

Mansfield insistently shepherded the excited lad away, and he turned and waved at the top of the stairs, amid cheers and whistles from the assembled coppers, before disappearing from sight.

"Right!" Gene rose to his feet, strode over to the bar, and slapped Mansfield's notes down on the counter. "Put this behind the bar, Luigi. Serious 'eavy drinking starts now. Mine's a pint. What's everyone else 'aving?"

There was a huge cheer, and everyone else bellowed out their orders.

It was a torrid night. Ever afterwards, Alex dubbed it The Night Of The Great Hangover. She had no recollection of getting back to her flat, but when she awakened the following morning, lying on top of her duvet with her boots and jacket removed, cursing the rays of light penetrating the blinds, she was disturbed by the noise of a thunderous snore in the living room. Staggering out there in unspeakable agony, she found Gene slumbering on the sofa, so far gone that he had not even remembered to remove his coat or boots.

 _Good grief_ , her excruciated brain registered. _He must have brought me up here and put me to bed, and he was even drunker than I was. Thank God he didn't try to drive the Quattro. He can't have been too drunk to know that._ Not for the first time she was astonished, not only by the amount of drink he could put away, but how well he could handle it.

It gave her a certain sadistic pleasure to clash the kitchen implements together while assembling a restorative fryup, seeing him wince as the sounds penetrated his sleep, and then savouring his anguish when he opened his eyes. Not surprisingly, his temper was vile, and he said not a word to her, even when she plunked his fryup in front of him or when they crawled out to face the unforgiving day.

They reeled into the office to find the whole of CID in little better state than they were, with the weaker spirits sobbing at the sound of Shaz's typewriter, and Gene disappeared straight into his office in search of the hair of the dog. It was a long and painful day.

-oO0Oo-

Although Gene had shown uncommon generosity over inviting Josiah to join them at Luigi's, Alex knew that it would take far greater reserves of endurance on his part to sit through a classical concert without complaining. She half expected him to tell her to give Josiah his excuses, but on the evening of the twenty-second he curtly dismissed her half an hour early to change and turned up on her doorstep on the dot of six o'clock to collect her.

He was clearly disappointed that she had not chosen to wear something skimpy, but she nonetheless felt that he approved of her choice of outfit, a long dark green gown ornamented with black lace and softly shimmering green sequins.

"Bloody 'ell, Bols, you look like the Christmas tree."

"Glad you like it, Guv." She picked up her black velvet stole and clutch bag. "You don't look too bad either." He was wearing the same suit he had worn all day, but she noticed that he had shaved and brushed his hair, and that his crocodile boots looked preternaturally clean. "Shall we go?"

"The Quattro awaits, Lady Bols."

As he parked the Quattro, in the patrons' car park rather than the artists' car park he had used on the night of the robbery, a thought occurred to her.

"Guv, we never did find out whether the man a witness saw going through the Barbican Estate was Lavizio or not."

"No, an' now we probably never will, as the dabs 'ave proved 'e was the thief, an' 'e's confessed an' won't go to trial. Even if it wasn't 'im, though, it was a good job the witness called us. It alerted us to the possibility that the thief 'ad 'eaded towards Moorgate, an' the Cassa Dorro's in that neck of the woods."

"Too true, Guv."

As they were about to enter the stalls, Alex noticed that the door to the backstage area was firmly closed and that a security man stood on guard. _At least the robbery has made the Barbican Centre tighten up its security. They're very lucky. If the violin hadn't been found so quickly, Van Hatten might have sued them._

They had magnificent seats in the centre stalls. Looking to the right-hand block, Alex spotted the Barnetts and waved to them, just as Emanuele, in a very smart suit, hurried up to them.

" _Buona sera, mio Signore!_ "

"An' a good evening to you," Gene grunted. "Why aren't you poisoning CID with Luigi's 'ome cooking tonight?"

"Signor Peal sent a ticket to the restaurant, with a note inviting me to come." The young man's face was flushed with pleasure. "I am so glad to be here. It is a wonderful programme."

"As you're a music student, you'll get more out of it than a lot of us," Alex said gaily. "Enjoy yourself!"

It was a glittering gala in aid of charities for London's homeless. Most of the city's major arts organisations had sent representatives, all of whom were donating their services. The orchestra launched the proceedings with a joyous account of the final movement of Bizet's _Symphony in C_. Alex was particularly delighted to hear Thomas Allen and the Royal Opera House chorus in a selection of Christmas carols. She had fond memories from her childhood of Eva Evdokimova and Peter Schaufuss from London Festival Ballet, who performed the Grand _pas de deux_ from _The Nutcracker_ \- very well too, she thought, given the limited amount of dancing space. Eilene Hannan and Adrian Martin of English National Opera sang quite the most moving duet from Puccini's _La Bohème_ that she had ever heard. A very appropriate choice, she felt, given that the opera takes place on Christmas Eve. Roger Allam dashed across from that evening's performance in the Barbican Theatre to represent the Royal Shakespeare Company with a reading of _The Night Before Christmas_ , and the London Symphony Chorus, with the great soprano Valerie Masterson, performed the Christmas sequence from Handel's _Messiah._

Gene, of course, sat through this musical feast slumped in his seat with his face registering expressions ranging from boredom to something akin to agony. But when Josiah came onto the platform, violin and bow in hand, he sat up and made an earnest effort to look interested.

Josiah performed the final movement of Beethoven's Violin Concerto with the orchestra, followed by a delightful selection of short pieces by Fritz Kreisler, accompanied by the great pianist Andras Schiff. His playing was exquisite, and although his instrument was new to him, he played it with the utmost assurance. Alex drank in the glorious sounds, knowing how much greater his artistry would grow in the years to come.

The audience, who of course all knew the story of the stolen Stradivarius, applauded rapturously. He bowed several times, and then stepped forward and held up his hands for silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much. I'm very glad to be here tonight. As some of you may know, I came very close to being without a violin at all." Laughter. "That's why I'd like to dedicate this encore to my good friends in the Metropolitan Police, to whom I owe more than I can say."

He waved to Gene and Alex, and she waved back, leaving Gene overcome with embarrassment. The audience applauded wildly, and she dreaded that they would have to rise to their feet and take a bow - _Gene would hate that_ \- but Josiah raised his bow authoritatively and gradually the applause subsided.

"This is my arrangement of an old song. I hope you'll think it appropriate."

The bow touched the strings lightly, and Alex smiled as she recognised the melody. Very softly, the combined choruses, who had assembled at the rear of the platform during the applause, began to sing.

" _My fiddle is my sweetheart, and I'm her faithful beau_

 _I take her to my bosom, because I love her so_

 _I clasp her gently round the neck, her vocal chords I press_

 _I ask her if she loves me, and she answers "Yes, yes, yes"_

 _She''ll sing at every season, December or in June_

 _But must have rosin reason, or will not sing in tune_

 _It's not until I coax her well that she'll reveal her charms_

 _But she will sing her sweetest song when once she's in my arms_

 _My fiddle is my sweetheart, and I'm her faithful beau_

 _I take her to my bosom, because I love her so_

 _She always is harmonic, she never flirts or winks_

 _And though she takes a tonic she never eats or drinks_

 _Her stom-jack's always empty but she never seems to care_

 _While she can get some scrapings she will live upon the air_

 _She'll answer every question, she'll instantly reply_

 _And at the least suggestion, she'll laugh or she will cry_

 _She'll grunt or groan, and sigh or moan, as I wish her to do_

 _And, best of all, won't speak at all, until she's spoken to_

 _So ladies, there's a wonder, wonderful but true_

 _A damsel who won't speak at all, unless she's spoken to._

After the concert, having collected their coats from a smiling Emma, Alex and Gene headed for the artists' entrance and found Emanuele and the Barnetts already there, watched over by a very suspicious security man. _That's an improvement on not having the door watched at all_ , Alex thought.

"Hello!" Mrs Barnett said excitedly. "Wasn't that wonderful? Thank you so much for sending us the tickets!"

"You'll have to thank Mr Peal," Alex said with a laugh. "He gave them to us to pass on to you. I take it he wants to see you, too?"

"Yes, there was a note in with the tickets. He said to give our names at the door, and Mr Mansfield will come for us."

"There was one in mine, too," Emanuele added.

The door opened and Mansfield emerged. "Here you all are. It's all right," he added to the security man, "they're all our guests. Come on in, Joe's expecting you."

With a full orchestra, two choruses and an array of principals, not to mention all the technical staff, the backstage area was organised chaos. Mansfield expertly threaded his way through the throng, his guests following close behind, until they reached the same dressing room that Josiah had occupied on the night of the robbery. Once again, his name was on the door.

"Joe! They're here!"

"Come in!" a joyous voice called from within. Mansfield opened the door and ushered them all inside.

Flushed with success, supremely happy, Josiah radiated an air of maturity and mastery. The dressing room was his natural habitat, his personal palace.

"Come in! It's so good to see all of you. Thanks for coming!"

"Thank you for inviting us, and thank you for playing so wonderfully," Alex replied.

"Yes. Liked the song," Gene added.

"You gave me the idea for that, Mr Hunt. You called the Stradivarius my sweetheart."

"Yeah, a girlfriend who doesn't answer back. Think I could get used to that."

Alex knew that he was trying to catch her eye, and was determined not to let him.

"Anyway," Josiah continued, "I wanted to say a final thank you and goodbye to all of you before we leave tomorrow. And to wish you all a merry Christmas."

"And the same to you," they all chorussed.

"It'll be the merrier for me because of all your help," he said earnestly. "It's thanks to all of you that the violin was saved."

"It's what we call team work in the Met," Gene said proudly.

"I hope you and the orchestra haven't suffered any bad publicity because of the robbery?" Alex inquired.

"No, quite the reverse," Mansfield said happily. "You know what they say, there is no such thing as bad publicity, and it's proved true in this case. The press exposure, not to mention your television appearance, has done wonders for Joe and for the orchestra. There could be a recording contract in it for him. The Barbican Centre came in for some stick because of their bad security, but as you've just seen, they've already taken steps to improve it. Which reminds me, is there any news of what will happen to Lavizio?"

"Yes, 'e's made a full confession so there's unlikely to be a trial," Gene explained. "But 'e'll be going down for a spell. 'E can fiddle in jail for a few years. Not that there's much demand in the Scrubs for 'is line of business."

"Unless he starts up a prison orchestra," Alex added. "There are all sorts of initiatives for rehabilitation these days."

Josiah sighed. "Part of me hates him for giving me the worst three days of my life. Goodness knows what would have happened if you hadn't found the Stradivarius for me. But part of me feels sorry for him. I know what it's like, to want so desperately to play an instrument that's out of my reach."

"Except that, as my esteemed lady colleague 'as pointed out, you stuck to the right side of the law," Gene said firmly.

"And Lavizio was prepared to let you suffer the consequences," Alex added.

"I know." There was silence for a moment, then Josiah's face cleared. "Anyway, I've something here for all of you." He turned to a pile of presents on his dressing table. "This is for you, Mrs and Miss Barnett." He carefully placed a parcel in Kelly's arms. "I hope you'll open it now."

"Thank you!" Beatrice seemed quite overcome.

Kelly ripped the paper open. "Look, Mum! It's our book!"

"Not the same one," Mansfield explained. "The police told us that it would be needed as evidence. This one's been signed for you by every member of the orchestra and Mr Morton. There's a copy of the orchestra's latest LP, too, Beethoven's third and fifth symphonies."

"And a copy of tonight's programme signed by everyone who took part," Josiah added. "I handed it round at the rehearsal. And I've signed a photo for you, and if I ever cut an LP, I'll send you a copy."

"Thank you so much!" Kelly gasped. Beatrice seemed beyond speech.

"No, thank _you_. Mr Emanuele - I'm sorry, I don't know your other name - "

"Angelino."

"Mr Angelino, I'm told you're a music student."

" _Si, Signore_. As Verdi's Duke of Mantua has it, _Studente sono, e povero_."

"I know what it's like to have trouble affording the music you need for your studies. I had a big problem with that until I got the Van Hatten Scholarship. That's why I got you this." He handed Emanuele a gift-wrapped envelope. "It's a Chappells' voucher for a hundred pounds. They sell all the sheet music you could ever want."

" _Grazie, Signore_." Emanuele bowed very low. "With all that music, I will be able to sing like a member of the heavenly choir."

"I surely hope so. This is for you, Miss Holly." He handed Alex a small, giftwrapped box.

"Oh, thank you, Josiah! But my name isn't Holly."

"Isn't it? I thought that was what I heard Mr Hunt call you, and I thought, how appropriate for the season."

"No, my real name's Alex, but he calls me Bolly. After Bollinger champagne." _And if Gene mentions knickers now, he won't live to see Christmas Day._

"Oh, I see. Well, I hope you like this."

Alex carefully removed the paper to reveal a jeweller's box. Inside there nestled a silver brooch in a squiggly shape which could have been a stroke of lightening. Or even, she realised with astonishment, a letter G. _I wonder if Josiah realised that when he bought it for me?_

"Is it all right?" Josiah asked hopefully. "I'd wanted to get you one shaped like a violin, but they didn't have anything like that. This was the nicest in the shop."

"It's lovely! Thank you so much, I'll always treasure it." _What a shame I can't pin it to my leather jacket._ "But, Josiah, have you been squandering your fee for the last concert to get us all this?" she added with mock severity. _Once a mother, always a mother._

"Rather a lot of it," he admitted sheepishly. "But I spoke to Mom and told her what I planned to do, and she agreed with me that I should use some of it to get really nice presents for the people who helped me. And Mr Hunt, this is for you." He handed Gene an enormous parcel, about three feet by two and about six inches thick. Gene ripped the paper away to reveal a massive, deluxe Hornby train set, complete with magnificent engine, carriages, tracks, station, signal boxes, tunnels and trees.

"I hope you haven't got it already?" Josiah said anxiously. "I heard Miss Holly - sorry, Bolly - saying about you wanting a train set. The shop people said that this is the best there is."

Gene's face was a study, and Alex didn't know where to look. "Er, no, er, this is all new to me," he managed to croak. "It's, er, it's great. Thanks very much."

"Oh, I'm so glad. My Pop loves model engines, so I know what it's like."

"How is he now?" Alex asked.

"Much better, thank you. Mom was even able to tell him about the violin being stolen, once you'd found it."

"Oh, I'm glad. So you'll have a happy homecoming for Christmas."

"Yes, thanks to all of you. So now my only remaining duty is to invite you all for a drink at the bar. I'm not allowed to have any alcohol in the dressing room because I'm under age."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Gene hefted the train set under his arm and nodded to the Anderson Guarnerius, which nestled in its velvet-lined case on Josiah's dressing table.

"No." Josiah produced the dressing room keys from his pocket and jingled them. "That's one lesson I've learned from all this. _Always_ lock the dressing room if I'm leaving the violin in it. Mr Anderson's secretary will be coming along shortly to collect it," he added wistfully, "so after this it's back to my old fiddle." He grinned at Alex. "Until I get that Stradivarius of my very own. I'll get it, even if I have to busk on the Subway to get the cash."

She chuckled. "Maybe you will. Use the experience to demonstrate the power of context to create perceptions of artistic quality."

Josiah's eyes widened. "Well - whatever."

Gene felt a burst of fellow feeling. _He's hearing the fruitcake part of her brain talking. This is what I get every day._

Josiah ushered them out to the bar, already crowded with performers and guests, and very ostentatiously turned the key in his dressing room door while Mansfield ordered from the barman. Seeing Gene sink a pint, Alex realised that this must be the first part of the evening that he had actually enjoyed. Josiah, in his element, proudly introduced Gene and Alex to the other performers ("You never know, I may play a copper one day," Allam murmured as he shook their hands), and to a number of visiting celebrities, as the detectives who had saved the Stradivarius. The Met's Tasty Twosome had their hands shaken so often, and were so fulsomely congratulated, that their heads spun.

The party could not last long because Josiah and the orchestra had an early flight back home the next day. When it became clear that the event was tailing off and the guests were drifting away, Alex and Gene sought out Josiah to say their goodbyes. She thought that Gene would quietly "forget" his train set, which he had left propped up against a pillar while at the bar, but to her surprise he made a point of retrieving it and tucking it under his arm before they approached Josiah for the last time.

He grasped their hands. "Goodbye, and thanks again for everything. I owe you so much and I'll never forget you. Be sure that if I ever play in London again, I'll send tickets along to the station."

"We'll look forward to it," Alex said sincerely. Gene tried to look enthusiastic.

She expected that as soon as they were out of earshot, Gene would blow her head off for embarrassing him, but he was silent as he led the way down to the car park and unlocked the Quattro. Even when they had got into the car, he did not start fire it up, but put the bulky box on his lap and sat looking at it.

"I'm so sorry, Gene," she said quietly. "I never thought Josiah would hear what I said about the train set. He wasn't to know that I was only drawing an analogy with Lavizio wanting the violin..." But something in Gene's set, sad face made her fall silent.

"Stu would 'ave given 'is eye teeth for this," he said, very low. "The Christmas 'e was nine, the toy shop 'ad a huge train display in the window. Train goin' round an' round the track, hills a' dales, trees, tunnels, a station, signal box, you name it, it was all there. He used to spend hours with 'is face pressed to the window. I joked that the shop'd charge 'im for a new pane of glass because 'is nose 'ad worn an 'ole in it. Used to get beltings from Dad for coming in late because 'e'd stopped on the way 'ome from school to watch the train.

"Couldn't see the point of it, myself. Used to drive me mad, seeing it goin' round an' round an' round. I wanted something that went in a straight line. That would go somewhere."

"A car," Alex said softly. "You always knew what you wanted. And you got it." _And it took him in a straight line, out of the hell of his home. But Stu never could escape. He died trapped in a vicious circle, just like the toy train he'd wanted._

"Yeah, well..." Gene straightened up, tried to push the box into the footwell, found that it was too big, and chucked it over his shoulder into the back seat. "Tomorrow I'll take it to the Fenchurch Childrens' 'Ome. Should keep the kids 'appy for Christmas."

"A very kind thought," Alex said approvingly. "And I think it was very good of you not to let on to Josiah that he'd got you the wrong thing."

"Couldn't disappoint the kid," Gene mumbled, now mortally embarrassed.

She smiled. "You claim not to like Christmas, but you're just a big old reformed Scrooge in disguise. You've shown more of the Christmas spirit in the handling of this case than a lot of people do in years."

His eyes became flinty. "Don't push your luck, sweet'eart."

She sighed theatrically. "That's a pity. I was about to put a proposition to you."

She could have sworn that he did a double take. "A WHAT?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Hunt, it's nothing indecent." She saw his shoulders sag with disappointment. "A gastronomic proposition."

He turned in the seat to look at her. "Expound."

"Well, I told my butcher that I only wanted a very small turkey crown, but the one he's got for me is absolutely enormous. So I wondered if you might want to help me eat it up. I know you're on duty on Christmas Day, so if you'd like to drop by my flat at beer o'clock we could eat it together."

"In other words, you're inviting me to Christmas dinner."

"I knew I wouldn't get that one past you without your noticing, Guv."

"I didn't make DCI without spotting weaselly words, Bolly Kecks." A short silence. "So. What's the menu? Starters?"

"A spot of smoked salmon."

"Mains?"

"Lashings of roast turkey. Stuffing - my own recipe, sausage meat, apricots, mushrooms, chestnuts and breadcrumbs. Tiny sausages and bacon curls."

"Spuds?"

"Of course. Hasselback potatoes. The _only_ way to have them at Christmas. Peel them, parboil them, cut them almost through in thin slices until they look like a toast rack, then put a bit of butter on top of each one and shove them in with the turkey until they're crispy. Divine."

"Anything else?"

"Brussels sprouts and parsnips."

"Oh."

"Not very many, as I know you're not a fan of vegetables. And I thought, a choice of cranberry sauce, bread sauce or gravy."

"Gravy, eh?"

"As rich and thick as you like."

"Pudding?"

"Of course. And mince pies. Cheese if you want it, but I think we might be stuffed by that time."

"Booze?"

"Bollinger, of course. What else? And I'm sure there will be single malt and a beer or two in the fridge if you want it."

"Hm. I think I'll 'ave to drop by on the twenty-fifth an' nick you for tempting a police officer." He inserted the key in the ignition, and the Quattro roared into life.

"I look forward to it, Guv."

 _Well_ , she thought as the Quattro emerged from the car park into Beech Street and headed towards Aldersgate. _I thought I was going to spend Christmas Day on my own, probably getting drunk. If I hadn't invited Gene to dinner, probably he would be, too. Two lonely people. But together, maybe we can make something of the day._

 _I hadn't bought any special food because I thought I'd be spending the day alone, so I hope it isn't too late to order that turkey. I'll have to make a shopping list when I get home, to make sure I don't forget to buy any of the things I've just promised him._

 _As he's coming, I'll have to make the flat look nice. Maybe a small Christmas tree and a crib. Holly in a vase. Fairy lights._

 _And I'll have to think of a really nice present for him. What about that brass lion door knocker I saw in Camden Passage last week?_

 _It looks as though it has the potential to be quite a Christmas for both of us, after all. And all because of a stolen violin._

 _If music be the food of love, play on..._

 **THE END**

 **A/N: This fic was inspired by the real life story of the Huberman Stradivarius, which was twice stolen from the violinist Bronislaw Huberman. The first time, in 1916, it was taken from his hotel room and was quickly recovered when the thief tried to sell it. The second time, in 1936, it was stolen from his unlocked dressing room at the Carnegie Hall, New York, while he was onstage performing on his other violin. Without the Fenchurch gang and sufficient honest witnesses on the case, the crime was not solved until 1985 when jobbing violinist Julian Altman made a deathbed confession to his wife that the scruffy fiddle which he had played in bars, clubs and as a freelance orchestra player for half a century was the lost Stradivarius, which he had disguised with black shoe polish. After his death, his widow surrendered the violin to Lloyds of London, who owned it because they had paid out Huberman's insurance claim (he had died in 1947). After loving restoration, it was sold to the English violinist Norbert Brainin, who subsequently sold it to its current owner, the great American virtuoso Joshua Bell.**

 **The piece Josiah plays at Luigi's is "Csárdás" by Vittorio Monti. There are a number of good renditions on YouTube (dig the one played by Vasko Vasiliev and danced by the amazing Steven McRae!). "My Fiddle is My Sweetheart" was written and composed by Harry Hunter and the legendary Edwardian music hall artist G. H. Chirgwin.**

 **The performers at the concert are all genuine performing artists of the early 1980s, one of whom is of course known to all Ashes lovers (Roger Allam was a member of the Royal Shakespeare Company during their first season at the Barbican: one of the shows in which he appeared was "Poppy", mentioned by Chris in Chapter 2). I hope those who are still with us will not object to their names being used for this story.**

 **Did anyone recognise any or all of the songs in the chapter headings? Chapters 1 and 3 come from "The Lost Chord" by Sir Arthur Sullivan (of Gilbert and Sullivan fame) - once a hugely popular song, but now little known except by enthusiasts. Chapter 2 comes from the carol "Masters in This Hall", written by William Morris to an old French dance tune (it's quoted by Katie Duggan's Niece in her wonderful fic "Since It Fell Unto My Lot"). Chapter 4 comes from a little known Gilbert and Sullivan opera, "Utopia Limited". Chapter 5 comes from "King's Rhapsody", a lovely musical by the unjustly neglected Welsh composer, Ivor Novello (after whom the awards and the West End theatre are named). I think the final chapter heading speaks for itself.**

 **And at the very end of this chapter, Alex mentally quotes the opening line from Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night".**


End file.
